"You _are_ only a man, dear--with all the lovable faults and sins and contradictions of one. But there is no real depravity in you any more than there is in me. Only--I think you are a little more selfish than I am--you lose self-command--" she blushed--"but that is because you are only a man after all.... I think, perhaps, that a girl's love is different in many ways. Dear, my love for you is perfectly honest. You believe it, don't you? If for one moment I thought it was otherwise, I'd never let you see me again. If I thought for one moment that anything spiritual was to be gained for us by denying that love to you or to myself--or by living out life alone without you, I have the courage to do it. Do you doubt it?" "No," he said. She sighed, and her gaze passed from his and became remote for a moment, then: "I want to live my life with you," she said, wistfully; "I want to be to you all that the woman you love could possibly be. But to me, the giving of myself to you is to be, in my heart, a ceremony more solemn than any in the world--and it is to be a rite at which my soul shall serve on its knees, Louis." "Dearest--dearest," he breathed, "I know--I understand--I ask your pardon. And I worship you." Then a swift, smiling change passed over her face; and, her hands still resting on his shoulders, kneeling there before him, she bent forward and kissed him on the forehead. "Pax," she said. "You are forgiven. Love me enough, Louis. And when I am quite sure you do, then--then--you may ask me, and I will answer you." "I love you now, enough." "Are you sure?" "Yes." "Then--ask," she said, faintly. His lips moved in a voiceless question, she could not hear him, but she understood. "In a year, I think," she answered, forcing her eyes to meet his, but the delicate rose colour was playing over her cheeks and throat. "As long as that?" "That is not long. Besides, perhaps you won't learn to love me enough even by that time. Do you think you will? If you really think so--perhaps in June--" She watched him as he pressed her hands together and kissed them; laughed a little, shyly, as she suddenly divined a new tenderness and respect in his eyes--something matching the vague exaltation of her own romantic dreams. "I will wait all my life if you wish it," he said. "Do you mean it?" "You know I do, now." She considered him, smiling. "If you truly do feel that way--perhaps--perhaps it might really be in June--or in July--" "You _said_ June." "Listen to the decree of the great god Kelly! He says it must be in June, and he shakes his thunderbolts and frowns." "June! Say so, Valerie," "_You_ have said so." "But there's no use in _my_ saying so if--" "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "the great god totters on his pedestal and the oracle falters and I see the mere man looking very humbly around the corner of the shrine at me, whispering, 'June, if you please, dear lady!'" "Yes," he said, "that's what you see and hear. Now answer me, dear."