"_Our_ wishes," he said, correctively, and she dropped her eyes and bent her head in assent. She was adorable in the final surrender. He murmured endearing, caressing words to her, and the warm color merged across her face, and receding, left her a trifle pale. All her indifference had been a pretense--he knew it now, and it strengthened his protests against delay. He drew her away from the steps as the dance ended, and the people came chattering and laughing out from the brilliantly lit rooms. "You talk of haste, but forget that I have waited three years, Judithe; remember that, won't you? Put that three years to my credit; consider that I wooed you every day of every year, and I would if I had been given the chance! You talk of time as if there were oceans of it for us, and you forget that I have but one more day to be with you--one day; and then separation, uncertainty. I can't leave you like that, now that I know you care for me--I won't." "Oh--h!" and she met his look with a little quizzical smile. "You mean to resign your commission for the sake of my society? But I am not sure I should admire you so much then. I am barbarian enough to like a fighter." "I should fight all the better for knowing it was a wife I was leaving behind instead of a sweetheart, Judithe; marry me tomorrow!" She made a little gesture of protest, but he clasped her hand in his and held it close to prevent her from repeating it. "Why not?" he continued. "No one need know unless you wish; it can be kept secret as the engagement would be. Then, wherever the fortunes of war may send me, I can carry with me the certainty of your love. Speak to me, Judithe! Say yes. I have waited three years; I want my wife!" "Your wife! _Your_--oh!"--and she flung out her hands as though putting the thought away from her. A tear fell on his hand--she was weeping. "Judithe, sweetheart!" he murmured, remorsefully. "Tomorrow--not tonight," she half whispered. "I must think, so much is to be considered." "No! Only one thing is to be considered;" he held her hands and looked in her face, with eyes ardent, compelling; "Only one thing, Judithe, and that is, do you love me--now?" "Now, and from the first day we ever met," she answered, looking up at him; her eyes were like stars glimmering through the mist of late tears. There came to them both the remembrance of that other avowal, behind those plunging horses in the Paris boulevard. They had unconsciously repeated the words uttered then. For an instant his arms were about her--such strong, masterful, compelling arms. A wild temptation came to her to remain in that shelter--to let all the world go by with its creeds, its plots, its wars of right and wrong--to live for love, love only, love with him.