"I'm not," he returned, smiling. "And yet," he went on, after a moment, "I confess I'm a little surprised—and disappointed at this last one. I was thinking, to tell the truth, as I had an idea you valued those pearls particularly, of asking you to let me have them, so that I could get you another string to match them exactly."
The last petal of the rose fell from Elizabeth's hand, she stared up at Gerard with an odd, frightened expression. "Don't," she broke out, harshly. "I—I hate pearls." Then with a sudden change, as she saw the absolute bewilderment in his face, she laid her hand gently on his arm. "Dear," she said, very sweetly, "you must have patience with my moods. I've got an idea, just now, that pearls are unlucky. It's very silly, I know, but—don't argue with me. Bear with me, Julian, let me have my own way—a little."
They were alone in the conservatory. He put his arm around her and pressed his lips to hers. "A little," he murmured. "Have your own way—a little! Didn't I tell you, my darling, that you should have your own way in everything?"
She seemed to shrink away with an involuntary shiver at the words. "Ah, but I don't want it," she protested. "It's the last thing I want. If"—she freed herself from his hold and stood looking him, very sweetly and steadily, in the face—"if we are married, Julian"—
"If!" he echoed, reproachfully.
"It's always safer to say 'if'" she said.
"Ah, but that's a suggestion I won't tolerate," he declared, firmly. "I'll have my own way in that, if in nothing else. But, when we are married, Elizabeth"—he paused.
"When we are married, then,"—she ceded the point resignedly, blushing rosy red—"when we are married, Julian, it must be your way, not mine. Yours is far better, wiser—yes"—she stopped his protest with an imperious gesture—"I feel it, even though I try sometimes to dispute it. I shall never do that—later. I shall try, with all the strength I have, to be more worthy of your love. But now—just now, Julian"—she looked at him anxiously, and a note of appeal crept into her voice—"if I seem odd, wilful, don't blame me, don't—doubt me"—
"Doubt you?" He took her hand and raised it reverently to his lips. "I shall never doubt you—again, my darling, no matter what you do or say."
There was the ring of absolute confidence in his voice. Yet it might have been that which made her shiver and shrink away, almost as if he had struck her a blow.