He answered in a low voice: 

“That is for you to decide.”

“I know it,” she murmured.  She lifted one ringless hand and still without looking at him, pressed the third finger backward against his lips.

“So much for the betrothal,” she said.  “My ring-finger is consecrated.”

“Will you not wear any ring?” he asked.

“No.  Your kiss is enough.”

“Yet—­if we are—­are—­”

“Engaged?” she suggested, calmly.  “Yes, call it that.  I really am engaged to give myself to you—­ex cathedra—­extra muros.”

“When?” he said under his breath.

“I don’t know....  I must think.  A girl who is going to break all conventions ought to have time to consider the consequences—­” She smiled, faintly—­“a little time to prepare herself for the—­the great change....  I think we ought to remain engaged for a while—­don’t you?”

“Dearest!” he broke out, pleadingly, “the old way is the best way!  I cannot bear to take you—­to have you promise yourself without formality or sanction—­”

“But I have already consented, Louis. Volenti non fit injuria,” she added with a faint smile. “Voluntas non potest cogi—­dearest—­dearest of lovers!  I love you dearly for what you offer me—­I adore you for it.  And—­how long do you think you ought to wait for me?”

She disengaged herself from his arm, walked slowly toward the tall old clock, turned her back to it and faced him with clear level eyes.  After a moment she laughed lightly: 

“Did ever an engaged gentleman face the prospect of impending happiness with such a long face as this suitor of mine is wearing!”

His voice broke in the protest wrung from his lips.

“You must be my wife.  I tell you!  For God’s sake marry me and let the future take care of itself!”

“You say so many sweet, confusing, and foolish things to me, Louis, that while you are saying them I almost believe them.  And then that clear, pitiless reasoning power of mine awakens me; and I turn my gaze inward and read written on my heart that irrevocable law of mine, that no unhappiness shall ever come to you through me.”

Her face, sweetly serious, brightened slowly to a smile.

“Now I am going home, monsieur—­home to think over my mad and incredible promise to you ... and I’m wondering whether I’ll wake up scared to death....  Daylight is a chilly shower-bath.  No doubt at all that I’ll be pretty well frightened over what I’ve said and done to-night....  Louis, dear, you simply must take me home this very minute!” She came up to him, placed both hands on his shoulders, kissed him lightly, looked at him for a moment, humorously grave: