He looks away consciously as he speaks. A thousand tingling little arrows of rapture shoot through her frame as the low words, "my wife," fall from his lips; spoken not harshly nor sneeringly, but kindly, almost tenderly. Is it possible, she asks herself, in thrilling silence, that he may one day forgive her, and be kind to her--nay, even give her love for love? "I remembered," he goes on, even more kindly, "that this was the _first_ request my wife had made of me, and I could not choose but grant it." He can be dangerously winning when he pleases. It pleased him to be so then--perhaps to try his power over her. The result is quite satisfactory. The rich color leaps to her cheeks, the light of joy flashes into her deep, dark eyes, the low-breathed answer is freighted with emotion. "I thank you more than I can express for your kindness," she answers, earnestly. "You make me very happy." "Then, while you are in that pleasant mood, there is something I must ask you," he ventures. "Yes?" She flashes him a bright, swift look of inquiry. He is silent for a moment. He has an air of confusion that does not sit ill upon him. "Reine," he says, "it was all a mistake, your traveling under your maiden name. It--it places you in a false position." "No one knows aught of us here--it cannot matter," she replies, with a blush, and quickly-drawn breath. He studies the beautiful face attentively. How fair, how young, how lovely it is. How sweet the heart-shaped, crimson lips, how long and dark the lashes that droop against her cheeks. How luxuriant and long the silken tresses that float like a banner on the fresh morning breeze. And she loves him; some strange, sweet thrill strikes through him whenever he recalls the truth she had owned with such pathetic frankness. "I have acted badly--no one realizes that fact more than I do," he continues, gravely; "but, Reine that is past. I am your husband; you are my wife, shall we let bygones be bygones and begin again?" "You mean----" she says, giving him a little wondering look. "I mean," he replies, "that I will go back to America to-day with you, and I will try to do my duty by you in future if only you will forgive me for shirking it in the first instance, and running away in such a dastardly fashion." Two crimson spots rise into her cheeks, her lashes fall lower. "But--but we are not going back to-day," she explains, in an agitated voice, telling him what her uncle's physician had said. "Not get away for two weeks?" he says. "Very well, Reine, then I shall leave the Haven of Rest and come to stay at Sea View Hotel, and it must be publicly made known that you are mine." "Indeed you will not, then," she breaks out with sudden self-assertion. "I am not willing." "Not willing?" he cries, and Reine's quick ear fancies it detects a tone of relief in his voice. "You refuse to be my wife, Reine--woman-like, taking revenge for a transient wrong."