"Yes ... yes, lover...."
"Claire-Anne!"
She stood up as he took her lovely, pale hands. There was no shame to her glance, nothing but a wonderful frankness, her eyes going to his like brave winged things.
"Claire-Anne, I want to ask you something."
"Yes ... Lover...."
"Claire-Anne, when will you marry me?"
Her hands never quivered, but he was aware that her mouth did, in the high diluted starlight.
"Why do you want to marry me? Is it because ...? Do you feel bound?... or ... just why?"
"I want to be with you, Claire-Anne."
"Then—dearest, does it matter to go before the mayor and arrange about property? And to go before a priest and make promises—to God!... Sit down, lover; sit down with me here, in the dusk, under the tree."