“Then they can eliminate me, also!” he said, impatiently.

“What logic!  When I have tried so hard to make you understand that I will not accept any sacrifice from you!”

“It is no sacrifice for me to give up such a—­”

“You say very foolish and very sweet things to me, Louis, but I could not love you enough to make up to you your unhappiness at seeing me in your world and not a part of it.  Ah, the living ghosts of that world, Louis!  Yet I could endure it for myself—­a woman can endure anything when she loves; and find happiness, too—­if only the man she loves is happy.  But, for a man, the woman is never entirely sufficient.  My position in your world would anger you, humiliate you, finally embitter you.  And I could not live if sorrow came to you through me.”

“You are bringing sorrow on me with every word—­”

“No, dear.  It hurts for a moment.  Then wisdom will heal it.  You do not believe what I say.  But you must believe this, that through me you shall never know real unhappiness if I can prevent it.”

“And I say to you, Valerie, that I want you for my wife.  And if my family and my friends hesitate to receive you, it means severing my relations with them until they come to their senses—­”

“That is exactly what I will not do to your life, Louis! Can’t you understand?  Is your mother less dear to you than was mine to me?  I will not break your heart!  I will not humiliate either you or her; I will not ask her to endure—­or any of your family—­or one man or woman in that world where you belong....  I am too proud—­and too merciful to you!”

“I am my own master!” he broke out, angrily—­

“I am my own mistress—­and incidentally yours,” she added in a low voice.

“Valerie!”

“Am I not?” she asked, quietly.

“How can you say such a thing, child!”

“Because it is true—­or will be.  Won’t it?” She lifted her clear eyes to his, unshrinking—­deep brown wells of truth untroubled by the shallows of sham and pretence.

His face burned a deep red; she confronted him, slender, calm eyed, composed:  “I am not the kind of woman who loves twice.  I love you so dearly that I will not marry you.  That is settled.  I love you so deeply that I can be happy with you unmarried.  And if this is true, is it not better for me to tell you?  I ask nothing except love; I give all I have—­myself.”

She dropped her arms, palms outward, gazing serenely at him; then blushed vividly as he caught her to him in a close embrace, her delicate, full lips crushed to his.

“Dearest—­dearest,” he whispered, “you will change your ideas when you understand me better—­”

“I can love you no more than I do.  Could I love you more if I were your wife?”

“Yes, you wilful, silly child!”

She laughed, her lips still touching his.  “I don’t believe it, Louis.  I know I couldn’t.  Besides, there is no use thinking about it.”