"Are you to wait three years for him?"
"For whom?" in surprise.
Then he glanced up. Her face, that had been lily-white, was flushed from brow to neck. What was there in the beautiful, entreating eyes?
"Cynthia?" All his firmness gave way.
His arm stole softly around her, drew her a trifle down. "Tell me! Tell me!" he cried, yet he had no idea he was asking her to lay her heart bare. There was still the boy Anthony.
"Cousin Chilian, if a woman loved very much, would it be a shame to her if, unasked, she——"
Her head sank down on his shoulder. He felt the warm, throbbing breath on his cheek. He drew her closer. Did the slim, palpitating body betray its secret?
"Oh, Cynthia, child, the most precious thing in all the world to me, tell me that I will not have to give you to another, that I may keep you to myself. For I cannot comprehend how so great a joy could come to me. And whether I would have the right to take your sweet young life, that should be replete with the joys of youth, with the gladness that is its proper birthright."
"If I gave it to you? If I could never have given it to any other?"
He drew her down closer, and the gentle yielding, the sort of rapturous sigh, answered him better than any words. He pressed kisses on the unresisting lips, kisses that then were sacred to affianced lovers and husbands.