Silence for a minute or two. The fresh night air sweeps over them, the leaves rustle gently overhead, and they are as virtually alone as Adam and Eve in Eden. Suddenly the strains of a band fall faintly on the quiet square, and they both start from dreamland into reality. She listens a moment. “_Estudiantina!_ It’s the eighteenth dance, Carl,” she says, nervously, for Zai has a much more wholesome fear of her august mother than her sisters have. “How long we have been absent!” He glances at his watch. “Half-past one o’clock!--nearly one hour and a-half. Who would believe it, little one? Nearly an hour and a half, that has flown like this because you and I are alone together. Just so our lives will pass like a delicious dream, my Zai. I don’t think any two people in this world ever loved one another as we do. The very first time I saw you--do you remember? It was at Lady Derringham’s. I have been devoted to fat, fussy Lady Derringham ever since! I knew it was all over with me. No more flirtations, no more bachelor ways for me. I knew it was my wife standing before me, in a sweet little blue dress, with a bunch as big as herself of lilies of the valley in her bosom. Zai, did you feel any instinct of the kind?” “Yes,” she whispers, nestling into his arms and kissing his coat-sleeve surreptitiously. The strains of the Estudiantina Waltz are still floating on the still air. The moon has hidden her face behind a bank of greyish cloud, and already the first pink tinge of dawn peeps down on earth. “Tell me what you felt?” he says, forgetful of time, of the convenances, of Lady Beranger’s wrath, and clasping her nearer, he tenderly draws the long dark cloak closer round her slender throat. “In the first moment I saw you, Carl, it seemed to me as if God had chosen me out for such delicious--delicious happiness as no other girl ever had in the world. I loved you in that moment as much as I love you now, Carl! And that is--oh! how can I tell you? I don’t believe that _was_ the beginning of my love, for it was so great, and full, and perfect, that it _must_ have been growing a long, long time. I love you!--I love you! I could say it every hour of my life, until you tired of hearing me. But you will never, _never_ tire of hearing me say it, Carl, will you?” she asks wistfully. Carlton Conway laughs as he listens, but it is scarcely a laugh that denotes mirth. Eight-and-twenty--he has never found a true woman yet to his thinking, until this one came and sat down in blind adoration at his feet, and gave all her pure and loving heart and soul into his keeping--unreservedly--unquestioningly--and brought a sense of happiness with her which he had never pictured even in his dreams.