With her fair head buried upon my shoulder she shed tears of joy, while, time after time, I smothered her white brow with my kisses. Ah! yes, I loved her. I closed my eyes to all. I put away all my dark suspicions, and lived only for the present in the knowledge that Sylvia was mine--_mine!_ My hot, fevered declarations of affection caused her to cling to me more closely, yet she uttered but few words, and those half-incoherent ones, overcome as she was by a flood of emotion. She seemed to have utterly broken down beneath the great strain, and now welcomed the peace and all-absorbing happiness of affection. Alone and friendless, as she had admitted herself to be, she had, perhaps, longed for the love of an honest man. At least, that is what I was egotistical enough to believe. Possibly I might have been wrong, for until that moment I had ever been a confirmed bachelor, and had but little experience of the fantastic workings of a woman's mind. Like so many other men of my age, I had vainly believed myself to be a philosopher. Yet are not philosophers merely soured cynics, after all? And I certainly was neither cynical nor soured. Therefore my philosophy was but a mere ridiculous affectation to which so many men and women are prone. But in those moments of ecstasy I abandoned myself entirely to love, imprinting lingering, passionate kisses upon her lips, her closed eyes, her wide white brow, while she returned my caresses, smiling through her hot tears. Presently, when she grew calmer, she said in a low, sweet voice-- "I--hardly know whether this is wise. I somehow fear----" "Fear what?" I asked, interrupting her. "I fear what the future may hold for us," she answered. "Remember I--I am poor, while you are wealthy, and----" "What does that matter, pray? Thank Heaven! I have sufficient for us both--sufficient to provide for you the ordinary comforts of life, Sylvia. I only now long for the day, dearest, when I may call you wife." "Ah!" she said, with a wistful smile, "and I, too, shall be content when I can call you husband." And so we sat together upon the couch, holding each other's hand, and speaking for the first time not as friends--but as lovers. You who love, or who have loved, know well the joyful, careless feeling of such moments; the great peace which overspreads the mind when the passion of affection burns within. Need I say more, except to tell you that our great overwhelming love was mutual, and that our true hearts beat in unison? Thus the afternoon slipped by until, of a sudden, we heard a girl's voice call: "Sylvia! Sylvia!" We sprang apart. And not a moment too soon, for next second there appeared at the French windows the tall figure of a rather pretty dark-haired girl in cream. "I--I beg your pardon!" she stammered, on recognizing that Sylvia was not alone. "This is Mr. Biddulph," exclaimed my well-beloved. "Miss Elsie Durnford." I bowed, and then we all three went forth upon the lawn.