"It can't be that you don't trust me," she said to him, "so it must be that you're lonely without me, even when you go to spend two weeks with your parents. I don't mind not going if you don't wish me to, Louis, and I'll stay here in town while you visit your father and mother, but it seems a little bit odd of you not to let me go when I can be of no earthly use to you." Her gentleness with him, and her sweet way of reasoning made him ashamed. "It's the crowd that's going, Valerie--Cardemon, Querida, Marianne Valdez--where did you meet her, anyway?" "In her dressing room at the Opera. She's perfectly sweet. Isn't she all right?" "She's Cardemon's mistress," he said, bluntly. A painful colour flushed her face and neck; and at the same instant he realised what he had said. Neither spoke for a while; he went on with his painting; she, standing once more for the full-length portrait, resumed her pose in silence. After a while she heard his brushes clatter to the floor, saw him leave his easel, was aware that he was coming toward her. And the next moment he had dropped at her feet, kneeling there, one arm tightening around her knees, his head pressed close. Listlessly she looked down at him, dropped one slim hand on his shoulder, considering him. "The curious part of it is," she said, "that all the scorn in your voice was for Marianne Valdez and none for Penrhyn Cardemon." He said nothing. "Such a queer, topsy-turvy world," she sighed, letting her hand wander from his shoulder to his thick, short hair. She caressed his forehead thoughtfully. "I suppose some man will say that of me some day.... But that is a little matter--compared to making life happy for you.... To be your mistress could never make me unhappy." "To be your husband--and to put an end to all these damnable doubts and misgivings and cross-purposes would make me happy all my life!" he burst out with a violence that startled her. "Hush, Louis. We must not begin that hopeless argument again." "Valerie! Valerie! You are breaking my heart!" "Hush, dear. You know I am not." She looked down at him; her lip was trembling. Suddenly she slid down to the floor and knelt there confronting him, her arms around him. "Dearer than all the world and heaven!--do you think that I am breaking your heart? You _know_ I am not. You know what I am doing for your sake, for your family's sake, for my own. I am only giving you a love that can cause them no pain, bring no regret to you. Take it, then, and kiss me." But the days were full of little scenes like this--of earnest, fiery discussions, of passionate arguments, of flashes of temper ending in tears and heavenly reconciliation.