officially betrothed since childhood to Duke Stephen’s brother, the Count Lorenzo.  The duke was my guardian, and there was no one else to whom I could appeal; but the very week set for the wedding I faced the duke and declared I would never marry the count.  His Highness raged and stormed, but I told him a few things I knew about his brother, and I made him see that I was in earnest.  The next day I left Krolvetz, and the duke gave out that I was ill and had gone to a health resort; that the wedding was postponed.  I went to France and hid myself with my aunt, took one of my own middle names and her surname, and have been known for some time, as you know, as Melanie Reynier.”

“I know you wish to tell me all these things, Melanie, but I do not want you to recall painful matters of the past now,” said Aleck gently.  “You shall tell me of them at another time.”

The color brightened in Melanie’s face, her eyes glowed.

“No, not another time; you must understand now, especially because all this preface leads me to what I really want to say to you.  It is this:  I do not now care for the man I loved at nineteen, nor for any of the other men of my country who have been pleased to honor me with their regard.  But ever since those early days I have had a dream of a home—­a place different from Duke Stephen’s home, different from the homes of many people of my rank.  My dream has a husband in it who is a companion, a friend, my equal in love, my superior in strength.”  Melanie’s eyes lifted to meet Aleck’s, and they were full of an almost tragic passion; but it was a passion for comprehension and love, not primarily for the man sitting before her.  She added simply:  “And for my dream I’d give all the wealth, all the love, I have.”

The room was very still.  Aleck Van Camp sat quiet and grave, his forehead resting on his hand.  He looked up, finally, at Melanie, who was beside him, pale and quite worn.

“Poor child!  You needed me more than I thought!” was what he said.

But Melanie had not quite finished.  “No, that is not enough, that I should need you.  You must also need me, want what I alone can give you, match my love with yours.  And this, I think, you do not do.  You calculate, you remain cool, you plan your life like a campaign, and I am part of your equipment.  You are a thousand times better than Count Lorenzo, but I think your principles of reasoning are the same.  You do not love me enough, and that is why I can not say yes.”

Aleck had taken this last blow standing.  He walked slowly around and stood before Melanie, much as he had stood before her when he first asked her to marry him; and this time, as he looked down on her fairness, there was infinite gentleness and patience and love in his eyes.  He bent over, lifted Melanie’s two hands, and drew her bodily out of her seat.  She was impassive.  Her quick alertness, her vitality, her passionate seriousness, had slipped away.  Aleck put his arms around her very tenderly, and kissed her lips; not a lover’s kiss exactly, and yet nothing else.  Then he looked into her face.