"You shouldn't marry," said Violet. "You are like a matinée idol. You will lose your capital when you marry, unless you are like that selfish man. I warn you, I am not like that wonderful wife. I couldn't bear it."
"You've thought about it, then," said Edgar joyously.
"Yes, oh, yes," replied Violet, her defences down and tears welling through her half-closed lids. "I'm sure I should be miserable."
"Then you love me." Edgar drew her out of her corner into his arms. "Violet, I promise you—"
"Dear," she interrupted him, "I am just as much afraid of myself as of you. No convention would hold me. The minute I found you were not honest with me—that you concealed from me—I should go. You would look about, and I shouldn't be there."
Edgar held her close in ecstatic possession.
"And that's why I'll be honest with you, Violet. I swear it. If we're both honest, what can—"
The taxi-cab driver threw open the door.
Once again the daisy-snow drifted over the hills on Brewster's Island; and Eliza sat in the doorway of the Villa Chantecler watching Phil adjust his possessions.