"I did not love her; taking the word in its truest extent. I thought I did, and it is only within a few months--yes, I may as well tell you all--that I have learnt my mistake." Mary Anne Thornycroft glanced at him in surprise. "Only within a few months! How is that?" "Because I have learnt to love another. To love--do you understand, Mary Anne?--to _love_. With my very heart and soul; with my best and entire being. Such love cannot come twice to any man, and it teaches him much. It has taught me, amidst other knowledge, that I liked my wife as one likes a dear child, but not otherwise." Mary Anne Thornycroft's hand trembled as it lay upon his arm. In her bewilderment of feelings, in the tumultuous sensation born of this great love that was filling all her mind, she nearly lost command of her words, and spoke at random. "But why should this be told only to your second wife?" "Because I should wish to show her that my true love is hers; hers only in spite of my early marriage. The rest of the world it concerns not, and will never be spoken of to them." "You assume confidently that you will feel this love for your second wife?" "I shall if I marry her. _That_ is by no means sure. Unless I marry _her_, the one to whom my love is given, I shall never marry at all." Ah, where was the use of keeping up this farce? It was like children playing at bo-peep with the handkerchief over the face. The other is there, but we pretend to know it not. With their hearts wildly beating in unison--with her hand shaking visibly in its emotion--with the consciousness that concealment was no longer concealment but full and perfect knowledge, stood they. Mary Anne rejoined, her words more and more at random, her wits utterly gone a-woolgathering. "And why should you not marry her?" "I am not in a position to ask for her of her father." It was all over in a moment. Save that he turned suddenly to look at her, and laid his hand on hers as if to still its trembling, Mary Anne Thornycroft doubted ever after if she had not made the first movement. Only a moment, and her head was lying on his breast, his clasped arms were holding her there, their pulses were tingling with rapture, their lips clinging together in a long and ardent kiss. "Dare I speak to you, Mary Anne?" he asked, hoarsely. "You know you may." "Oh, my love--my love! It is you I would, if possible, make my wife. None other. But I may not ask for you of Mr. Thornycroft. He would not deem my position justified it." "I will wait for you, Robert." Only by bending his head could he catch the low words. His cheek lay on hers; he strained her closer, if that were possible, to his beating heart. "It may be for years!" "Let it be years and years. I ask no better than to wait for you." The stars shone out brighter in the sky; the fire in the room went quite down; and nothing more could be heard from those living in their new and pure dream, but snatches of the sweet refrain-- "My love, my love!"