She drew apart from him and went back to her chair. But there she stretched out her hands to him and Osmond took them, and so, holding them, they spoke out their true minds. Her eyes were brimming full. "I wasn't sure you would take my present," she said. "It's dear of you to take it, Osmond." "Your love, your wonderful love!" "I selected it with great care, dear." She was laughing. "It's very shiny, and nice, and warranted to last. It's the strongest love I could find. I never saw one like it. Shall we live in the playhouse now, dear?" "You will live in my heart. Rose, I kissed you." She bent to him. "Kiss me again. Kisses are little blooms budding out of my love. You are a gardener-man. You know the faster flowers are picked, the sooner they bloom again." He was regarding her in wonder. "You must be crazy to think you like me!" he said honestly. Again she laughed. "I am! stark mad. I feel as if a thousand birds were singing and all the lilies opening: You remember how they smelled that night, Osmond? You wouldn't go with me to smell them. They've come to us. They're here." He held her gaze. "Be serious," he said. "I can't, I like you so!" "Only till I ask you this. You said once you had always been in love with love." "Always. Ought I to be ashamed of it? I am not. I am proud. To find the half of you that you have been lonesome for, and then be faithful to it,--oh, beautiful!" "Are you in love with love, or are you in love with me?" "With you, dear Osmond." The clear eyes answered him in a joyous confidence. "I must have taken hold of your imagination." "Yes! You make me see visions and dream dreams. Hear how fast I talk to you! The words can't tumble out quick enough, there are so many more pushing them." "No, I mean I have taken hold of your imagination because I am so queer." "You are queer, Osmond. It's queer to be so darling." "If I were sure!" He loosed her hands and looked away from her, and his face set gravely. "What, Osmond?" "If I were sure it was fair to you--best for you to let you know the truth--then I'd tell you." "Tell me what?" He drew her hands back into his. He was looking at her with the first voluntary yielding of his whole self. It lighted his face into beauty, the chrism of the adoring spirit laid upon trembling lip and flashing eye. "I have withheld from you," he said, in quick, short utterance, "because it had to be. But if you care, too, why deny us both one hour of happiness, if we part to-morrow?" "Deny me nothing," she was murmuring. "Let me see your heart." "You should see my soul, if it could be. Dearest, it was so from the first minute. I was afraid of you with the terrible fear of love. Don't you see how different it is with us? You longed for love because you are the angel of it. I was afraid of it because it would have to mean hunger and pain and thirst." "But not now! not now! We have found each other, and it means the same thing for both of us."