And somehow, as they talked, their conversation
did gradually drift from passionate personalities into graver themes
affecting wider interests, and Aubrey, warming into eloquence, gave
free vent to his thoughts and opinions, till noticing that Sylvie
sat very silent, looking into the fire somewhat gravely, he checked
himself abruptly, fancying that perhaps he was treading on what
might be forbidden ground with her whose pleasure was now his law.
As he came to this sudden pause, she turned her soft eyes towards
him tenderly, with a smile.
"Well!" she said, in the pretty foreign accent which distinguished
her almost perfect English, "And why do you stop speaking? You must
not be afraid to trust me with your closest thoughts,--because how
can our love be perfect if you do not?"
"Sweetheart!" he answered, catching the white hand that was so
temptingly near his own, "Our love IS perfect!--and so far as I am
concerned there shall never be a cloud on such a dazzling sky!"
She smiled.
"Ah, you talk romance just now!" she said, "But Aubrey, I want our
love to be something more than romance--I want it to be a grand and
helpful reality! If I am not worthy to be the companion of your very
soul, you will not, you cannot love me long.
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