He had remained her hero ever since.
She remembered the afternoon when he had asked her to be his wife. They were alone in the library which overlooked the Park with its beautiful vista of green foliage, its glimpse of rolling lawns, and shimmering lakes. They were standing side by side, gazing idly out of the window, conversing quietly on all kinds of topics interesting to them both. She was enjoying his vigorous, masculine point of view and feeling strangely happy in his company.
"When should a man marry?" he asked all at once.
Startled for a moment at the abruptness of the question which nothing in their previous conversation had led up to, she answered gravely:
"When he's tired of being alone and when he feels he has met the woman with whom he can be happy, the kind of woman who will be a real helpmate and aid him to achieve his ambitions."
"How can he know that the woman to whom he is attracted will have this influence in his life? How can he distinguish real gold from the imitation which merely glitters?"
"Only by his instinct. That never errs."
"And when in your opinion, should a woman marry?"
"When she meets the man to whom she feels she can give herself without forfeiting her self-respect."
He nodded approvingly, and looked at her for a few moments without speaking. Outside it was growing dark, for which she was glad, for her face burned under the earnestness of his gaze. Finally he said: