“Sweetheart!” he answered, catching the white hand that was so temptingly near his own, “Our love is perfect!—­and so far as I am concerned there shall never be a cloud on such a dazzling sky!”

She smiled.

“Ah, you talk romance just now!” she said, “But Aubrey, I want our love to be something more than romance—­I want it to be a grand and helpful reality!  If I am not worthy to be the companion of your very soul, you will not, you cannot love me long.  Now, no protestations!” For he had possessed himself of the dear little hand again, and was covering it with kisses—­“You see, it is very sweet just now to sit by the fire together, and look at each other, and feel how happy we are—­but life does not go on like that.  And your life, my Aubrey, belongs to the world . . .”

“To you!—­to you!” said Aubrey passionately, “I give it to you!  You know the song?—­I set my life in your hand Mar it or make it sweet,—­I set my life in your hand, I lay my heart at your feet!”

Sylvie rose impulsively, and leaning over his chair kissed his forehead.

“Yes, I know!  And I know you mean what you say!  I could not imagine you telling an untruth,—­not even in making love!” and she laughed, “Though there are many of your sex who think any amount of lies permissible under similar circumstances!  And it is just because I have found men such practised liars, that I have the reputation of being heartless.  Did you ever think me heartless?”

Aubrey hesitated a moment.

“Yes,” he admitted at last, frankly, “I did till I knew better.  I was told—­”

“Stop!  I know all you were told!” said Sylvie, drawing her slim figure up with a pretty dignity as she moved back to her place by the fire—­“You were told that I was the cause of the death of the Marquis Fontenelle.  So I was, unhappily—­but not through my own fault.  The actor Miraudin,—­known to be one of the most coarse-minded and brutal of men,—­slandered me in public,—­the Marquis defended me.  Hence the combat and its fatal end, which no one has deplored more bitterly than I. Miraudin was never a gentleman,—­ Fontenelle could have been one had he chosen.  And I confess I cared very much for him at one time!”

“You loved him,” said Aubrey, trying to master a pang of jealousy.

“Yes!  I loved him!—­till he proved himself unworthy of love.”

There was a silence.

“I tell you all this,” said Sylvie then slowly and emphatically, “that you may know me at once as I am.  I wish to hide nothing from you.  I have read all your books—­I know your views of life—­your hatred of dissimulation—­your contempt of a lie!  In your love for me, you must have complete knowledge of my nature, and confidence in my truth.  I would never give my life to any man unless he trusted me absolutely,—­unless I was sure he felt I was a real helpmate for him.  I love you—­but I also love your work and your aims; and I go with all your thoughts and wish