"It is all a mistake!" she suddenly burst out passionately. "I am not good enough for you, and when my bonny face is gone you will hate me. We have nothing in common, and if you met me in London you wouldn't be interested in me at all. You will bring clever women to the house and I--I will sit in a corner and say nothing, for I won't understand the things that you talk about. I am afraid to go to London with you." "We'll stay here then," I said quietly. "No!" she cried, "not that! I will stay here, but you must go to your work and your clever friends. O! it's all been a mistake!" She sat down on a fallen tree and wept silently. I sat down beside her and placed my arm round her shoulders. "Margaret," I said softly, "we'll have a soul to soul talk about it. I'll tell you very very frankly what I think about the whole matter, and I'll try to deceive neither you nor myself. "Intellectually you are not a soul-mate to me. That can't be possible seeing that you have never had the chance to develop your intellect. I know girls whose intellect is brilliant and whose sense of humour is delicious ... but I don't love them. I like them; I love a witty conversation with them, but ... I don't want to touch them. The touch of your hand sends a thrill through me, and there is no other hand in the world that can do that. I want to caress you, to hug you, to kiss your lips, to kiss your lovely neck. Margaret, I want you ... and you are not my soul-mate. Margaret, I must have you. "You see, dear, love is a thing that cannot be reasoned with. I once wrote down on paper a list of the qualities I wanted in the woman who should be my wife. She was to have blue eyes, a Grecian nose, auburn hair; she was to be tall and imperious; she was to be a fine pianist. Dear, your eyes are grey; your nose isn't Grecian; you aren't tall, and your limit as a pianist is _I'm a Little Pilgrim_ played with one finger. You're hopeless, madam, but, dash it all!... I'll buy an auto-piano! "According to all the rules I oughtn't to find any interest in you at all. Do you know that popular song _You Made Me Love You_? That's the only popular song I ever struck that has any philosophy in it. It has more real pathos in it than _The Rosary_ and Tosti's _Goodbye_ rolled into one. "'You made me love you; I didn't want to do it,' ... Margaret, that's the true story of love. Love is blind they say, but the truth is that love is mad. I didn't want to love you; my mind kept telling me that you were not the right woman ... and here I sit in paradise because your head is on my shoulder. The whole thing's absurd and irrational. I almost believe that there is a real Cupid who fires his arrows broadcast; of course the little fellow is blind and he hits the wrong people." I turned her face towards mine. "Margaret, do you love me?" "I love you," she whispered and she nestled more closely into my shoulder.