"Will you not confess it?" he repeated. "You know what your answer means to me. Say that you do, and nothing shall part us; I swear it. If you do not, then I give you my word I will go away, and never let you see my face again."
This time she looked up at him with her beautiful eyes full of tears.
"I do love you," she whispered; and then added, in a louder voice, "but what is the use of my saying so, when it can make no difference?"
"It makes all the difference in the world, darling," cried Browne, with a triumph in his voice that had not been there a moment before. "Now that I know you love me, I can act. I am not afraid of anything." Before she could protest he had taken her in his arms and covered her face with kisses. She struggled to escape, but he was too strong for her. At last he let her go.
"Oh! you do not know what you are doing," she cried. "Why will you not listen to me and go away before it is too late? I tell you again and again that you are deluding yourself with false hopes. Come what may, I can never be your wife. It is impossible."
"Since you have confessed that you love me, we will see about that," said Browne quietly but determinedly. "In the meantime, remember that I am your affianced lover. Nothing can alter that. But, hark! if I am not mistaken, I hear Madame Bernstein."
A moment later the lady in question entered the room. She glanced from one to the other as if to find out whether they had arrived at an understanding. Then Browne advanced and took her hand.
"Madame," he said, "I have the honour to inform you that mademoiselle has decided to be my wife."
"No, no," cried Katherine, as if in a last entreaty. "You must not say that. I cannot let you say it."
Madame Bernstein took in the situation, and adapted herself to it immediately. In her usual manner, she expressed her delight at the arrangement they had come to. There was nothing like love, she averred, in the world.