"Alice, do you think you could ever love me?" Edgar asked suddenly one day, when they two were practising duets together.
"I think I have always loved you," she answered softly.
This was no untruth. Alice had always loved the hero of the piece; that Paul had been for a time Edgar's understudy in the part, had no practical bearing on the case.
"Then will you be my wife?"
"Yes."
Edgar wanted to kiss Alice, but he refrained for fear of frightening her. Alice wanted Edgar to kiss her, and could not imagine why he did not do so. It was in things like this that Edgar made mistakes. He had never learnt that nine times out of ten other people want the same things as we do; and if they don't, it doesn't so very much matter, as long as we get our own way.
"I do not wish to deceive you," he said, "or to win your love under false pretences, though that love is the desire of my heart. But my wife will have no luxury, though the world counts me a rich man."
"I don't want luxury," replied Alice, "I only want you."
"Do you mean to say you dare face a life of toil and poverty for my sake?"
"Of course I do. Don't you understand that I care for nothing but being with you, and feeling that you are pleased with me?"