“A whole world full and brimming over; is that enough?”
“Only a little world?” he answered. “Is that all?”
“If I told you truly, you would not believe me,” she said earnestly. “You would shake your head and say: 'Poor silly Betty, has she gone moon mad?'”
Catching her in his arms again, he kissed her hair and mouth and hands and the ruffle at her throat. “Poor silly Betty,” he repeated, “where is your wisdom now?”
“You have turned it into folly, sad little wisdom that it was.”
“Well, I prefer your folly,” he said gravely. “It was folly that made you love me at the first; it was pure folly that brought you out to me that night at Chericoke—but the greatest folly of all is just this, my dear.”
“But it will keep you safe.”
“Who knows? I may get shot to-morrow. There, there, I only said it to feel your arms about me.”
Her hands clung to him and the tears, rising to her lashes, fell fast upon his coat.
“Oh, don't let me lose you,” she begged. “I have lost so much—don't let me lose you, too.”