Minutes went by in silence.  When he spoke it was over his shoulder, and, as it were, parenthetically: 

“But, Diane, I love you.”

He stood as he was, listening, but as if without much expectation, for a response.  When none came, and he turned round inquiringly, he beheld in her that radiant change which was visible to those who saw the martyred Stephen’s face as he gazed straight into heaven.

For a long minute he stood spellbound and amazed.

“Was it that?” he asked, in a whisper.

She gave him no reply.

“It was that,” he declared, in the tone of a man making a discovery.  “It was that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me so before?” she found strength to say.

“Tell you, Diane?  What was the use of telling you—­when you knew?  My life has been open, for you to look into as you would.”

“Yes, but not to go into.  There’s only one key that unlocks the inner shrine of all—­the word you’ve just spoken.  A woman knows nothing till she hears it.”

He looked at her with the puzzled air of a man getting strange information.

“Well,” he said, after a long pause, “you’ve heard it.  So what—­now?”

“Now I’m willing to say that I love you.”

“Oh, but I knew that already,” he returned.  “A man doesn’t need to be told what he can see.  That isn’t what I’m asking.  What I want to learn is, not what you feel, but what you’ll—­do.”

She smiled faintly.

“I’m asking what you’ll—­do?” he repeated.

“If you insist on my telling you that,” she said glancing up at him shyly, “I’ll say that—­since the inner shrine is unlocked—­at last—­I’ll go in.”

“Then, come, come.”

He stood with arms open, his tone of petition still blended with a suggestion of command, as she crossed the room toward him.

THE END