"You say very foolish and very sweet things to me, Louis, but I could not love you enough to make up to you your unhappiness at seeing me in your world and not a part of it. Ah, the living ghosts of that world, Louis! Yet _I_ could endure it for myself--a woman can endure anything when she loves; and find happiness, too--if only the man she loves is happy. But, for a man, the woman is never entirely sufficient. My position in your world would anger you, humiliate you, finally embitter you. And I could not live if sorrow came to you through me." "You are bringing sorrow on me with every word--" "No, dear. It hurts for a moment. Then wisdom will heal it. You do not believe what I say. But you must believe this, that through me you shall never know real unhappiness if I can prevent it." "And I say to you, Valerie, that I want you for my wife. And if my family and my friends hesitate to receive you, it means severing my relations with them until they come to their senses--" "_That_ is _exactly_ what I will not do to your life, Louis! _Can't_ you understand? Is your mother less dear to you than was mine to me? I will _not_ break your heart! I will not humiliate either you or her; I will not ask her to endure--or any of your family--or one man or woman in that world where you belong.... I am too proud--and too merciful to you!" "I am my own master!" he broke out, angrily-- "I am my own mistress--and incidentally yours," she added in a low voice. "Valerie!" "Am I not?" she asked, quietly. "How can you say such a thing, child!" "Because it is true--or will be. Won't it?" She lifted her clear eyes to his, unshrinking--deep brown wells of truth untroubled by the shallows of sham and pretence. His face burned a deep red; she confronted him, slender, calm eyed, composed: "I am not the kind of woman who loves twice. I love you so dearly that I will not marry you. That is settled. I love you so deeply that I can be happy with you unmarried. And if this is true, is it not better for me to tell you? I ask nothing except love; I give all I have--myself." She dropped her arms, palms outward, gazing serenely at him; then blushed vividly as he caught her to him in a close embrace, her delicate, full lips crushed to his. "Dearest--dearest," he whispered, "you will change your ideas when you understand me better--" "I can love you no more than I do. Could I love you more if I were your wife?" "Yes, you wilful, silly child!" She laughed, her lips still touching his. "I don't believe it, Louis. I _know_ I couldn't. Besides, there is no use thinking about it." "Valerie, your logic and your ethics are terribly twisted--" "Perhaps. All I know is that I love you. I'd rather talk of that--" "Than talk of marrying me!" "Yes, dear." "But you'd make me so happy, so proud--" "You darling! to say so. Think so always, Louis, because I promise to make you happy, anyway--"