"Yes. I suppose that is it. Heady and—light-hearted."
Travers had his eyes fixed on the form ahead in its dark blue mountain skirt and corduroy waist.
"I wish you would take off your hat," he said.
Priscilla obeyed.
"Thank you! Will you let me—love you?"
He noticed a tremor run the length of her body.
"Is—that in my giving?" Priscilla meant to play just a little longer, only a little, and then she must make him see that because this sudden and great thing had come to them both, they must prove themselves worthy of it by unselfish recognition of deep truths.
"No. But I would like to have you say—yes! I meant all I said last evening; you said nothing. I mean to have you, because I love you; because I know you love me, and because nothing else matters. It's only fair to warn you. You do love me?"
"Is it love—when everything else is swept aside?"
"Yes."