“I—­can’t help it.”

“Dearest—­dearest—­” he stammered, and kissed her unresponsive lips, her throat, her hair.  She only gazed silently at the man whose arms held her tightly imprisoned.

Under the torn lace and silk one bare shoulder glimmered; and he kissed it, touched the pale veins with his lips, drew the arm from his neck and kissed elbow, wrist, and palm, and every slender finger; and still she looked at him as though dazed.  A lassitude, heavy, agreeable to endure, possessed her.  She yielded to the sense of fatigue—­to the confused sweetness that invaded her; every pulse in her body beat its assent, every breath consented.

“Will you try to care for me, Valerie?”

“You know I will.”

“With all your heart?” he asked, trembling.

“I do already.”

“Will you give yourself to me?”

There was a second’s hesitation; then with a sudden movement she dropped her face on his shoulder.  After a moment her voice came, very small, smothered: 

“What did you mean, Louis?”

“By what—­my darling?”

“By—­my giving myself—­to you?”

“I mean that I want you always,” he said in a happy, excited voice that thrilled her.  But she looked up at him, still unenlightened.

“I don’t quite understand,” she said—­“but—­” and her voice fell so low he could scarcely hear it—­“I am—­not afraid—­to love you.”

“Afraid!” He stood silent a moment, then:  “What did you think I meant, Valerie?  I want you to marry me!”

She flushed and laid her cheek against his shoulder, striving to think amid the excited disorder of her mind, the delicious bewilderment of her senses—­strove to keep clear one paramount thought from the heavenly confusion that was invading her, carrying her away, sweeping her into paradise—­struggled to keep that thought intact, uninfluenced, and cling to it through everything that threatened to overwhelm her.

Her slim hands resting in his, her flushed face on his breast, his words ringing in her ears, she strove hard, hard! to steady herself.  Because already she knew what her decision must be—­what her love for him had always meant in the days when that love had been as innocent as friendship.  And even now there was little in it except innocence; little yet of passion.  It was still only a confused, heavenly surprise, unvexed, and, alas! unterrified.  The involuntary glimpse of any future for it or for her left her gaze dreamy, curious, but unalarmed.  The future he had offered her she would never accept; no other future frightened her.

“Louis?”

“Dearest,” he whispered, his lips to hers.

“It is sweet of you, it is perfectly dear of you to wish me to be your—­wife.  But—­let us decide such questions later—­”

“Valerie!  What do you mean?”

“I didn’t mean that I don’t love you,” she said, tremulously.  “I believe you scarcely understand how truly I do love you....  As a matter of fact, I have always been in love with you without knowing it.  You are not the only fool,” she said, with a confused little laugh.