"I was thinking," he said, stumbling a little, "sometimes old scenes, you know—they bring back—old heartaches."
"My heart will never ache—in that way," she answered gently, "while I have you." She paused a moment; then: "I'd like you to understand, Will," she said. "It isn't that I have forgotten. I have simply passed on. One does, you know. And I think that is—sometimes—how the last come to be first. It doesn't hurt me any longer to remember my old love. And it mustn't hurt you either. For it isn't a thing that could ever again come between us. Nothing ever could, Will. We are too closely united for that. And it is your love, your faith, your patience, that have made it so."
She ended with her head back, her lips raised to his, and in the kiss that passed between them there was something sacred, something in the nature of a bond.
Yet in a moment she was smiling again, the while she slipped from his close embrace. "And now you are going to dress for the ball. Come, you won't refuse me just for to-night—just for to-night!"
She pleaded with him like a girl and she proved irresistible. Half dazzled by her, he surrendered to her wiles.
"I will come if you like, Daisy; but I'm afraid I shall only be in the way. My dancing has grown very rusty from long disuse."
"What nonsense!" she protested. "Why, I only married you for the sake of your dancing. If you don't come, I shall spend the whole evening dancing with Nick."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of Nick!" said Will. "He is as safe as the Bank of
England."
"Is he?" said Daisy. "You wait till you catch us alone some day. I tell you frankly, Will, I've kissed Nick more than once!"
"My dear," he said, "your frankness is your salvation. You have my full permission to do so as often as you meet."