“You knew he was wrong.”
“In a way—yes. And then, I wondered if, after all, he was right. As I said, I can’t explain it to myself. You stopped my speaking to you about it. And yet, do you know, after talking with your uncle, I convinced myself—I thought I convinced myself—that I was unworthy of you, that our marriage would be wrong.”
“Don’t say that!” she exclaimed angrily. “Unless your love for me has changed, it is the one right thing in the world—as mine is for you.”
“Beloved! Let it be so,” he said, his dark mood vanishing. “Let the first day of our new life be the first day of our past. Do you remember that first day? Coming down the river we spoke hardly a word. You laughed at me, called me lazy, the boat slipped along so slowly. And you were right! Watching you I forgot the stupid business of rowing. Never before were you so beautiful—but now you are a million times more beautiful! How I wanted to kiss you! If I had dared kiss just a bit of your dress, anything blessed by touching you! But I didn’t—not then! How it all happened afterward, when we landed at our island, is the mystery—or, rather, the most natural thing in the world. I was tongue-tied as ever. Not a word in the language was in reach of me—at least, I couldn’t think of one. Naturally, the dictionary men left out our words; they didn’t know you. And yet, we understood! Did the birds tell us, I wonder, or was it written on the trees, or whispered in the golden air? Love talks without words. But now—” he broke off abruptly—“now I must answer Uncle Harold.”
“Why?”
“I wish I could talk it over with Raoul,” he went on, not heeding the question.
“Why with Raoul?”
“You don’t know Raoul.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He understands me, that’s all. We have been together a lot. But what’s the use of thinking of him! He’s in India, probably—or, maybe, Bogota—yes, it must be Bogota—and will stay there for years.”