that very clearly.  He was no boy.  He had lived a life of hard self-discipline and had put his youth behind him long since.  But he brought all the intensity of a boy’s adoration to back his manhood’s strength of purpose, and before it she was impotent and half-afraid.  The men of her world had all been of a totally different mould.  She was accustomed to cynicism and the half-mocking homage of jaded experience.  But this was new, this was wonderful—­a force that burned and dazzled her, yet which attracted her irresistibly none the less, thrilling her with a rapture that had never before entered her life.  Whatever the risk, whatever the penalty, she was bound to go forward now.

She spoke at last, her eyes still held by his.  “I think you are right.  We can’t help it.  But oh.  Dick, remember that—­remember that—­if ever there should come a time when you wish you had done—­otherwise!”

“If ever I do what?” he said.  “Do you mind saying that again?”

She shook her head.  “But I’m not laughing.  Dick.  You’ve carried me out of my depth, and—­I’m not a very good swimmer.”

“All right, darling,” he said.  “Lean on me!  I’ll hold you up.”

She clasped his hand tightly.  “You will be patient?” she said.

He smiled into her anxious face.  “As patient as patient” he said.  “That, I take it, means I’m not to tell anybody, does it?”

She bent her head.  “Yes, Dick.”

“All right,” he said.  “I won’t tell a soul without your consent.  But—­” he leaned nearer to her, speaking almost under his breath—­“when I am alone with you, Juliet—­I shall take you in my arms—­and kiss you—­as I have done to-day.”

Again a swift tremor went through her.  She looked at him no longer.  “Oh, but not—­not without my leave,” she said.

“You will give me leave,” he said.

She was silent for a space.  He was drawing her two hands to him, and she tried to resist him.  But in the end he had his way, and she yielded with a little laugh that sounded oddly passionate.

“I believe you could make me give you anything,” she said.

“But you can’t give me what is mine already,” he made quiet answer, as he pressed the two trembling hands against his heart.  “That is understood, isn’t it?  And when you are tired of working for your living, you will come to me and let me work for you.”

“Perhaps,” she said, with her head bent.

“Only perhaps?” he said.

His voice was deeply tender.  He was trying to look into the veiled eyes.

“Only perhaps?” he said again.

She made a little movement as if she would free herself, but checked it on the instant.  Then very slowly she lifted her face to his, but she did not meet his look.  Her eyes were closed.

“Some day,” she said with quivering lips,—­“some day—­I will.”

He took her face between his hands, and held it so as if he waited for something.  Then, after a moment, “Some day—­wife of my heart!” he said very softly, and kissed the eyes that would not meet his own.