"Ah, my rose," he said, tenderly. "Why will you droop? Why will you care about people who cannot matter to us? My own Pauline, can't you see that I called in a third person because I dare not trust myself now. All the day long, all the night long you are my care. I'm so dreadfully anxious to justify myself; I long for assurance at every step; once I was self-confident, but I can't be self-confident any longer. Success is no responsibility in itself, but now...."
"It's my responsibility," cried Pauline, melting to him. "Oh, forgive me for being jealous. Darling boy, it's just my foolish ignorance that makes me jealous of some one who can give you more than I."
"But no one can!" he vowed. "I only asked Michael's advice because you are too kind a judge. My success is of such desperate importance to us two. What would it have mattered before I met you? Now my failure would.... Oh, Pauline, failure is too horrible to think of!"
"As if you could fail," she chided, gently. "And if you did fail, I would almost be glad, because I would love you all the more."
"Pauline, would you?"
"Ah no, I wouldn't," she whispered. "Because I could not love you more than I do now."
The dog, with a sigh, dropped his stick; he was become accustomed to these interludes.
"Bob gives us up as hopeless," Guy laughed.
"I'm not a bit sympathetic, you jealous dog," she said. "Because you have your master all day long."
The next time Guy came to the Rectory he brought with him the manuscript, so that Pauline could seal it for luck; and they sat in the nursery while Guy, for the last enumeration, turned over the pages one by one.