With that she gave him both her hands.

“Yes,” said Wilfrid.

As if struck by the ridicule of so feeble a note, falling upon her passionate speech, he followed it up with the “yes!” of a man; adding:  “Whatever you are, you are my dear girl; my own love; mine!”

Having said it, he was screwed up to feel it as nearly as possible, such virtue is there in uttered words.

Then he set about resolutely studying to appreciate her in the new character she had assumed to him.  It is barely to be supposed that he should understand what in her love for him she sacrificed in giving up Italy, as she phrased it.  He had some little notion of the sacrifice; but, as he did not demand any sacrifice of the sort, and as this involved a question perplexing, irritating, absurd, he did not regard it very favourably.  As mistress of his fancy, her prospective musical triumphs were the crown of gold hanging over her.  As wife of his bosom, they were not to be thought of.  But the wife of his bosom must take her place by virtue of some wondrous charm.  What was it that Emilia could show, if not music?  Beautiful eyebrows:  thick rare eyebrows, no doubt couched upon her full eyes, they were a marvel:  and her eyes were a marvel.  She had a sweet mouth, too, though the upper lip did not boast the aristocratic conventional curve of adorable pride, or the under lip a pretty droop to a petty rounded chin.  Her face was like the aftersunset across a rose-garden, with the wings of an eagle poised outspread on the light.  Some such coloured, vague, magnified impression Wilfrid took of her.  Still, it was not quite enough to make him scorn contempt, should it whisper:  nor even quite enough to combat successfully the image of elegant dames in their chosen attitudes—­the queenly moments when perhaps they enter an assembly, or pour out tea with an exquisite exhibition of arm, or recline upon a couch, commanding homage of the world of little men.  What else had this girl to count upon to make her exclusive?  A devoted heart; she had a loyal heart, and perfect frankness:  a mind impressible, intelligent, and fresh.  She gave promise of fair companionship at all seasons.  She could put a spell upon him, moreover.  By that power of hers, never wilfully exercised, she came, in spite of the effect left on him by her early awkwardnesses and ‘animalities,’ nearer to his idea of superhuman nature than anything he knew of.  But how would she be regarded when the announcement of Mrs. Wilfrid Pole brought scrutinizing eyes and gossiping mouths to bear on her?

It mattered nothing.  He kissed her, and the vision of the critical world faded to a blank.  Whatever she was, he was her prime luminary, so he determined to think that he cast light upon a precious, an unrivalled land.

“You are my own, are you not, Emilia?”

“Yes; I am,” she answered.

“That water seems to say ‘for ever,’” he murmured; and Emilia’s fingers pressed upon his.