"Darling, there are so many reasons." He draws his breath quickly, impatiently. "Some day, you may meet some one else—more suited to you, perhaps, and——"
"I shall never do that." She interrupts him slowly, but decidedly.
"You are sure?"
"Yes."
The answer in words perhaps is meagre; but he, looking into the depths of her soft eyes, sees a surer answer there, and is satisfied.
The shadows are growing longer and slower. They do not dance and quiver now in mad glee, as they did an hour agone.
"I think we must go back," says Monica, with unconcealed regret.
"What! you will throw me again into temptation? into the very arms of the fair Bella?" says Desmond, laughing.
"Reflect, I beg of you, before it is too late."
"After all," says Monica, "I don't think I have behaved very nicely about her. I don't think now it would be a—a pretty thing to make you give me the roses before her. No, you must not do that; and you must not manage to forget them, either. You shall bring the handsomest you can find and give them to her,—but publicly Brian, just as if there was nothing in it, you know."