"Why, Mona?"
"Because I could not bear to think any one was made unhappy by me. It would seem as though some evil eye was resting on our love," says Mona, raising her thoughtful, earnest eyes to his. "It must be a sad thing when our happiness causes the misery of others."
"Yet even were it so you would love me, Mona?"
"I shall always love you," says the girl, with sweet seriousness, "better than my life. But in that case I should always, too have a regret."
"There is no need for regret, darling," says he. "I am heart-whole, and I know no woman that loves me, or for whose affection I should ask, except yourself."
"I am indeed dear to you, I think," says Mona, softly and thankfully, growing a little pale through the intensity of her emotion.
"'Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee,'" replies he, quite as softly.
Then she is pleased, and slips her hand into his, and goes along the quiet road, beside him with a heart in which high jubilee holds sway.
"Now tell me something else," she says, after a little bit. "Do all the women you know dress a great deal?"
"Some of them; not all. I know a considerable few who dress so little that they might as well leave it alone."