"Power, I suppose," said Nan doubtfully; then, with a slightly interrogative intonation—"and riches?"
"Well—yes."
"But one's happiness does not depend on either."
"It rarely exists without one or the other."
"I don't know. I should like to live in a cottage and be quite poor and bake the bread, and work hard all day, and sleep soundly all night——"
"Yes, if it were for the sake of those you loved," said Sydney, venturing to look at her significantly.
Nan nodded, and a faint smile curved her lips: her eyes grew tender and soft.
"Can you not imagine another kind of life? where you spent yourself equally for those whom you loved and who loved you, but in happier circumstances? a life where two congenial souls met and worked together? Could you not be happy almost anywhere with the one—the man—you loved?"
Sydney's voice had sunk low, but his eyes expressed more passion than his voice, which was kept sedulously steady. Nan was more aware of the look in his eyes than of the words he actually used. She cast a half-frightened look at him, and then turned rosy-red.
"Could you be happy with me?" he asked her, still speaking very gently. "Nan, I love you—I love you with all my heart. Will you be my wife?"