“No; yours, Loree, as all I have is yours. Only an earnest of things to come. You shall wreathe yourself in diamonds, the most beautiful the world has ever seen—as you yourself are and shall be the fairest jewel the world has ever seen, and mine.”
“Your words are madness!” she stammered. “How can I be yours? I am a married woman.”
“Oh, that!”—with a gesture and a scornful smile he brushed away marriage and every obstacle that stood between them.
“You are insane!” she insisted. “I never dreamed of such a thing. And how could I know that these were yours?” With a spurt of anger she added, “How dared you put them in my room?”
He only smiled tolerantly.
“You accepted them—and wore them.”
“But—I did not know they were yours.”
“Who then, loved one, did you think was showering almost priceless stones upon you?” he inquired with gentle irony.
“I—I don’t know. I never thought about it at all. I just found them there—and though—” She broke down. It was true, but it sounded too puerile and childish.
“You thought that findings were keepings?” He laughed. “So they are, darling, as far as you are concerned. And for me, too, I have found you, and,”—his voice changed from laughter and became strong and soft and fierce—“by God, I mean to keep you!” As suddenly as before, he caught her to his breast. “You are mine, Loree, and I will hold you against the world. You are something I have been looking for all my life. Your beauty makes me—your eyes—your hair—it is wound round my heart. Ah—you don’t know—women don’t know—”