“Never mind, since I love you now,” she replies. “You hated me when you cared for Conway, Zai!” He looks at her keenly as he deals what she thinks a random shot, but which is really a premeditated speech, for ever since Gabrielle’s words, Lord Delaval has been jealous for the very first time in his life. Never before has he felt the pangs of the green-eyed monster. It may be because he has never before perhaps felt a true and pure love. Zai laughs, but the laugh is a little forced. “You see, Delaval, if you did not care about me you would not be jealous! The past belongs to me, you know, but the future is yours--won’t that content you?” she asks softly. “Shall I promise that it is only you that I shall love for the rest of my life?” “Suppose you couldn’t keep your promise, Zai. Suppose an old influence was too strong for you--what then?” “An old influence! No one could have any influence over me now but you, Delaval!” “Will you swear that you will stick to me through thick and thin? Will you swear that no other man shall come between us ever?” She does not answer. A feeling a little rebellious creeps up in her heart. It is hard--so hard--to be doubted like this, when she has so bravely cast from her all sentiment for her old lover--when she is “really and earnestly caring” for this man. “You can’t answer for yourself, Zai!” he exclaims angrily. “Or perhaps you _won’t_ answer?” Still she does not say a word, but hides her face against his arm. So he moves away from her and faces her, his arms crossed over his chest, and speaks slowly and deliberately: “Zai, when you know that a man is hungering and thirsting for a word of reassurance--when you _must_ feel that it kills me to be in uncertainty of your _real_ feeling you keep that word locked up in your bosom--you put a seal on your lips--you are thinking what a happier fate would have been yours as Conway’s wife.” The suddenness of these last words sends a thrill through her, and involuntarily she starts. “Delaval, Mr. Conway is probably a married man by this time, and I really think you forget that I am just going to be _your_ wife.” “Will you always remember you are my wife?” he asks. “I am not likely ever to let the fact escape my notice,” she answers gravely. “Mr. Conway is nothing to me but an acquaintance; as far as _love_ is concerned, he and I are as far removed from one another as if he or I were _dead_.” “Bah!” he says roughly, “don’t think all that goody-goody sentiment is a safeguard for errant fancies. Morality now-a-days is at a very low ebb, and marital obligations go a precious little way against inclination--certainly where _men_ are concerned. On your honour, Zai, if Conway was free and could marry you, would you still have me?” “On my honour I would have you and no one else--if I _may_?” she asks with a deprecatory smile. Whereupon he catches her once more in his arms.