But Loftus came to her. Bending a bit he whispered in her ear: "Don't go—don't go ever."
Do what she might she could not manage with her hat. In the glass it was no longer that which she saw, nor her face, but an abyss, suddenly precipitate, that had opened there.
"No, don't go," Loftus was saying. "I love you and you love me."
It was, though, not love that was emotionalizing her then. It was fear. A fear of that abyss and of the lower depths beneath.
"Don't go," Loftus reiterated. "Don't, that is, if you do love me; and if you do, tell me, will you be my wife?"
At this, before her, in abrupt enchantment, the abyss disappeared. Where its depths had been were parterres of gems, slopes of asphodel, the gleam and brilliance of the gates of paradise.
"Your wife!" The wonder of it was in her voice and marveling eyes.
"Come." Taking her hand, Loftus led her to their former seat.
"But——"
"But what?"