"Not for me. Why should it be? If anything can make to-day more complete, it is to think that to-morrow will be more perfect, and the next day still more, and so on, each day better than the one before it."
Maria Consuelo shook her head.
"Do not speak of it," she said.
"Will you not love me to-morrow?" Orsino asked. The light in his face told how little earnestly he asked the question, but she turned upon him quickly.
"Do you doubt yourself, that you should doubt me?" There was a ring of terror in the words that startled him as he heard them.
"Beloved—no—how can you think I meant it?"
"Then do not say it." She shivered a little, and bent down her head.
"No—I will not. But—dear—do you know where we are?"
"Where we are?" she repeated, not understanding.
"Yes—where we are. This was to have been your home this year."