And then, without a moment's pause in which to arrange his thoughts, surprised into a revelation which he had intended indefinitely to defer, he told her that he was in very truth her slave, and that he must be the most miserable of men if this avowal of his love touched no answering chord in her heart. She who was habitually so gay grew suddenly grave almost to sadness, and looked at him with an expression which was half-frightened, half-reproachful. "Oh, why do you talk like this?" she cried. "We have been such friends--so happy." "Shall we be less friendly or less happy when we are lovers?" That word "when" touched her keen sense of the ridiculous. "When we are lovers!" she echoed, smiling at him. "You take everything for granted." "I have no alternative between confidence and despair." "Really, really, now? Am I really necessary to your happiness?" "You are my happiness. I come here, or I go to the Grove, and find you, and I am happy. When I go away, I leave happiness behind me, except the reflected light of memory; except the dreams in which your image floats about me, in which I hear your voice, the sweet voice that is kinder in my dreams than it ever is in my waking hours." "Surely I am never unkind." "No; but in my dreams you are more than kind--you are my own and my love. You are what I hope you will be soon, Suzette--soon! Life's morning is so short. Let us spend it together." They were in the temple at the end of the cypress walk, and in that semi-sacred solitude his arm had stolen round her waist, his lips were seeking hers, gently, yet with a force which it needed all her strength to oppose. "No; no; you must not. I can promise nothing yet. I have had no time to think." "No time! Oh, Suzette, you must have known for the last six weeks that I adore you." "I am not vain enough to imagine myself adored. I think I knew that you liked me--almost from the first----" "Liked and admired you from the very first," interrupted Allan. "My aunt said things--hinted and laughed, and was altogether absurd; but one's kinsfolk are so vain." "Yes, when they have a goddess born among them." "Oh, please don't be too ridiculous. You know that I like you; but, as for loving, I must have a long, long time to think about _that_." "You shall think as long as you like; so long as you do not withdraw your friendship. I cannot live without you." "Why should I cease to be your friend? Only promise that you will never again talk, or behave, as foolishly as you have done this afternoon." "I promise, solemnly promise; until you give me leave to be foolish," he added, with a touch of tenderness.