She slipped down, blushing, and looked up at him with such a divine smile, such true love-light in her eyes, that he would have been less than human if he had not strained her to his heart, while he murmured again and again that he loved her better than life, next to honor, and after God.
Still, when he released her, he said, with comical persistence:
“Now for the ninety-seventh, Gwen?”
“I am tired of giving you reasons, you dispose of them so summarily.”
“Because they are so flimsy, and unsubstantial. And, seriously, darling, it is right we should be married at once. You stand quite alone—you are beautiful enough to make other women your enemies by simply unveiling your face. And you will surely be very lonely in lodgings.”
“Am I to go into lodgings, then?”
“I am sorry to say you ought. There can be no excuse for your remaining here, now that I am so much stronger.”
Lady Gwendolyn looked exceedingly grave.
“It seems very difficult to be single comfortably,” she said.
“Yes, there the world is good enough to help us poor lovers. Some of you would hesitate half your life away if you did not occasionally feel the need of masculine aid and intervention.”