"She would be sorry," said Stella. "They would all be sorry, would they not?" she added, sadly.
"Why should you think of that?" he expostulated, gently. "What does it matter? All will come right in the end. They will not be sorry when you are my wife. When is it to be, Stella?" and his voice grew thrillingly soft.
Stella started, and a scarlet blush flushed her face.
"Ah, no!" she said, almost pantingly, "not for very, very long—perhaps never!"
"It must be very soon," he murmured, putting his arm around her. "I could not wait long! I could not endure existence if we should chance to be parted. Stella, I never knew what love meant until now! If you knew how I have waited for this meeting of ours, how the weary hours have hung with leaden weight upon my hands, how miserably dull the day seemed, you would understand."
"Perhaps I do," she said softly, and the dark eyes dwelt upon his musingly as she recalled her own listlessness and impatience.
"Then you must think as I do!" he said, quick to take advantage. "Say you do, Stella! Think how very happy we should be."
She did think, and the thought made her tremble with excess of joy.
"We two together in the world! Where we would go and what we would do! We could go to all the beautiful places—your own Italy, Switzerland! and always together—think of it."
"I am thinking," she said with a smile.