"How could he be so stupid?" she cried. "I hope you took them away from him." "Oh, no. I sent the guinea. They must be published. Pauline, I must have done something soon or I shall go mad! Surely you see the funny side of his offer? I think the notion of my expecting to get five shillings apiece out of a lot of readers, and my only reader's getting a guinea out of me is funny. I think it's quite humorous." "Nothing is funny to me that hurts you," Pauline murmured. "And I'm heartbroken about the books." "Oh, when I'm rich I can buy plenty." "But not the same books." "That's mere sentiment," he laughed. "And the only sentiment I allow myself is in connection with things that you have sanctified." Then he told her about the flowers pressed in the two volumes of Dante, both in that same fifth canto. "And almost you know," Guy whispered, "I value most the ragged robin, because it commemorates the day you really began to love me." "Ah, no," she protested. "Guy, don't say that. I always loved you, but I was shy before. I could not tell you. Sometimes, I wish I were shy now. It would make our love so much less of a strain." "Is it a strain?" "Oh, sometimes," she cried nearly in tears, her light brown hair upon his shoulder. "Oh, yes, yes, Guy. I can't bear to feel.... I'm frightened sometimes, and when Mother has been cross with me, I've not known what to do. Guy, you won't ever ask me to come out again at night?" "Not if it worries you afterward." "Oh, yes, it has, it has. Guy, when shall we be married?" "This year. It shall be this year," he vowed. "Let us believe that, Pauline. You do believe that?" "Oh, Guy, I adore you so wildly. It must be this year. My darling, my darling, this year ... let it be this year." Guy doled out very carefully the £35 he had accumulated by the sale of his books. Lampard and Clary had to be content with £7 apiece. Five more creditors received £4, or rather one of them only £3 19s., so that the guinea left over could be put back into the current account for poetic justice. There was for the present nothing more to do but await the verdict of Worrall's reader, and in a fortnight Guy heard from the publisher to say this had been favourable enough to make Mr. Worrall wish to see him in order to discuss the matter of publication. Guy was much excited and rushed across to the Rectory in a festivity of hopefulness. He had wired to say he would be in London next day, and all that evening the name of Worrall was lauded until round his unknown personality shone the aureole of a wise and benevolent saint. There seemed no limit to what so discerning a publisher might not do for Guy, and he and Pauline became to themselves and to her family the hero and heroine of such an adventure as never had been. In the course of the evening Guy had an opportunity of talking to Margaret, and for the first time for a long while he availed himself of it. "Are you really going to talk to me then?" she asked in mock surprize.