Colville wrenched himself loose from the hold that had been growing more tenderly close and clinging. "And do you think I could be such a vampire as to let you? Yes, yes; I have had my dreams of such a thing; but I see now how hideous they were. You shall make no such sacrifice to me. You must put away the fancies that could never be fulfilled, or if by some infernal magic they could, would only bring sorrow to you and shame to me. God forbid! And God forgive me, if I have done or said anything to put this in your head! And thank God it isn't too late yet for you to take yourself back." "Oh," she murmured. "Do you think it is self-sacrifice for me to give myself to you? It's self-glorification! You don't understand--I haven't told you what I mean, or else I've told it in such a way that I've made it hateful to you. Do you think I don't care for you except to be something to you? I'm not so generous as that. You are all the world to me. If I take myself back from you, as you say, what shall I do with myself?" "Has it come to that?" asked Colville. He sat down again with her, and this time he put his arm around her and drew her to him, but it seemed to him he did it as if she were his child. "I was going to tell you just now that each of us lived to himself in this world, and that no one could hope to enter into the life of another and complete it. But now I see that I was partly wrong. We two are bound together, Imogene, and whether we become all in all or nothing to each other, we can have no separate fate." The girl's eyes kindled with rapture. "Then let us never speak of it again. I was going to say something, but now I won't say it." "Yes, say it." "No; it will make you think that I am anxious on my own account about appearances before people." "You poor child, I shall never think you are anxious on your own account about anything. What were you going to say?" "Oh, nothing! It was only--are you invited to the Phillipses' fancy ball?" "Yes," said Colville, silently making what he could of the diversion, "I believe so." "And are you going--did you mean to go?" she asked timidly. "Good heavens, no! What in the world should I do at another fancy ball? I walked about with the airy grace of a bull in a china shop at the last one." Imogene did not smile. She faintly sighed. "Well, then, I won't go either." "Did you intend to go?" "Oh no!" "Why, of course you did, and it's very right you should. Did you want me to go?" "It would bore you." "Not if you're there." She gave his hand a grateful pressure. "Come, I'll go, of course, Imogene. A fancy ball to please you is a very different thing from a fancy ball in the abstract." "Oh, what nice things you say! Do you know, I always admired your compliments? I think they're the most charming compliments in the world." "I don't think they're half so pretty as yours; but they're more sincere."