Not at the beginning; not when they first met; but day by day as they grew more intimate. Then the old battle had to be fought over again; only far worse, far harder, than ever before. Even when he had seemed to be at his best and gayest, he never could forget, and the strife had gone on. For all through he had known that, sooner or later, he must tell her everything; and time after time he had striven to bring out the words, which he feared would dash his hopes to the ground. "For I love you!—love you!" he said, with a concentration of passion. "I love you with all my heart—with all my soul. No one ever has been— no one ever can be—what you have become. Doris, do you care ever so little for me? Could you love me? Could you be mine—my own!—my very own?" He caught her hands, and rained kisses upon them. She let them lie in his grasp, neither responding nor checking. "Tell me—do you care? Sometimes I hope that you do. In spite of all this—do you love me, just a little? Am I nothing to you—nothing at all?" "No!" she whispered. The monosyllable seemed to be dragged from her. "You do—you do love! My own! My darling!" The rapture of look and tone awoke a sense of prudence. "Yes, but—no, stop, please. It can't be. It is impossible. It can never be." "But if you love me, Doris, sweetest!—if you feel for me only one-hundredth part of what I feel for you—is this to keep us apart? This, that I cannot help—this, for which I am not responsible!—this, that does not change me, does not make me in myself unfit for you? Is the question of my forbears so tremendous a thing, that it must spoil my life—must spoil, perhaps, both our lives? If other things do not stand in the way, and if you know that I could make you happy—Doris, my darling, does it not seem that we are made for one another? I have felt it so from the first. Have not you? I love you—and you do not deny that you love me. Is not that enough, my darling—my own?" He was beside her on the grass, his eyes on a level with hers, searching into them, full of pleading, full of vehement appeal; his face white with feeling. "If we truly love, can anything keep us long apart? Shall any lesser thing be allowed? Would it be right—reasonable? I do not minimise the difficulty. It is real, I know. But think!—think!—dear one. Could you choose to live your life apart from mine?—would you choose it, if the choice is yours? Are we not one already in mind and heart? If you love—would you consent to separation for life, only for this?—only that yours is bluer blood than mine! You shall make of me what you will! My people shall not trouble you—that I can promise. It is you and I who love—just you and I! What has the rest of the world to do with us? Just you and I!—my Doris!—my darling!" His passionate energy swept her along, carried her away, and she burst into tears. "I don't know. Oh, I don't know," was all she could say; and his arms were round her. "My own! My Doris!"