"Brian," she says, nervously.
It is the first time she has ever called him by his Christian name, and he turns to her a face still sad indeed, but altogether surprised and pleased.
"Now, that is good of you," he says.
"There is nothing good about me," says Monica, tearfully. "I am as horrid as I well can be, and you are——Brian, I will give up that tableau. I will not be Dolly Varden; no, not if Mr. Ryde went on his knees to me."
"My dear, dear love!" says Mr. Desmond.
"Do you indeed love me," says Monica, softly, "in spite of all I do?"
"I love you because of all you do. What is there not commendable in every action of yours? I love you; I live always in the hope that some day you will be more to me than you are to-day. A presumptuous hope perhaps," with a rather forced smile, "but one I will not stifle. I suppose every one lives in a visionary world at times, where some 'not impossible she' reigns as queen. I dare say you think my queen is impossible, yet you little know what dreams have been my playmates, night and day."
"Am I your queen?" sweetly.
"Yes, darling."
"And you are glad I have given up this tableau?"