“But, my Harold—no, I will not interpose any buts. You would not ask me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you know the world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and knowing you and loving you with all my heart—with all my soul—I trust you implicitly—without a question—without the shadow of a doubt.”
“God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to regret loving me—trusting me.”
“It is my life—it is my life, Harold.”
Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure.
“It must be to-morrow,” he said, returning to her. “I shall come here at noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can part us. You will still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God hasten the day when you can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the world and call yourself by my name.”
“I shall be here at noon to-morrow,” said she.
“Unless,” said he, returning to her after he had kissed her forehead and had gone to the door. “Unless”—he framed her face with his hands, and looked down into the depths of her eyes.—“Unless, when you have thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot trust me.”
She laughed.
“Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world,” said he.
He knew the world.