"It is yours," she said, and tears, in which there was no unhappiness, stole into her eyes, "love as perfect as woman ever gave to man. Not love for to-day, my dearest, but love forever; love which nothing can weaken; love which will triumph over every adversity; love which will be proof against any trial. But that is little." "It is everything," said Kingsley, "to me and to every man worthy of the name. The sacrifice I have made--you choose to call it so, and I will not contradict you, dear--is to be measured. Not so with love. It is illimitable, unmeasurable. It illumines every surrounding object; it makes the commonest things precious. How beautiful the present is to you and to me! Could it be more beautiful if we were passing it in a palace? That picture on the wall--a common print? No. A lovely possession. The handsomest painting that ever was painted hanging there--would it make the present moments sweeter, would it invest the spiritual bond which unites us with a binding link which now is missing? This book on the table which cost a shilling--if it were a first edition worth thousands of pounds, would it increase our happiness, would it make your love for me and mine for you more perfect and complete? There is an immeasurable distance between what I have gained and what I have lost. So let us have no more talk of sacrifices, Nansie, dear." She could not find arguments with which to answer him, and it would have been strange if she had needed them. "In return," he continued, "I will make the strongest endeavor not to underrate myself, nor to prove that I am more than ordinarily selfish. There--my cigar is out." She lit a match and held it while he puffed away at his weed. "You promised to tell me what you have done to-day," she said. "There is very little to tell. I did what I could, which consisted simply of walking about, and looking in shop-windows. I went out without any distinct idea in my mind; I thought that something might happen, and I was disappointed. Everything and everybody seemed to be going along nicely, and not to be in want of me. It occurred to me to consider what I was fit for. I looked into the windows of a boot-shop. What do I know of boots and shoes, except how to put them on my feet? Literally nothing. The same with haberdashers, the same with grocers, the same with jewellers, the same with every kind of shop. Then, trades; I don't know one. Printers, engravers, carpenters, watchmakers, and that kind of thing--you have to serve an apprenticeship before you can hope to earn money by them. I felt like a fish out of water. There seemed to be no groove for me, nothing that I could take hold of. I am really puzzled, Nansie." "My poor Kingsley!" murmured Nansie. "But, there," he said, snapping his fingers, "it will not mend matters to worry about them. _Nil desperandum_, and a fig for the world and its cares! If only to-morrow would not come!"