“True. But think of a home where the wife was won, a stranger, by a stranger, on the street.”
“That is strongly put. I had not thought of it that way.”
“Better now than too late.”
“The answer is, in my case, that you are not a stranger. Outside of every man’s life there is a woman standing—just outside, her radiance across his path. He is always conscious of her there, but he cannot see her. He finds himself striving because of her; ambitious, because of her. Then one day she steps in and he recognizes her. And because of her he keeps his soul clean and face to the sunrise. Some call her the Ideal. But I know her as the woman God made for me. Now you understand what I meant when I said I had waited for you all my life.”
“What a beautiful thought!”
“It’s not my fault I met you on the street.”
“Perhaps it may not always be, on the street.”
“You mean you will let me come to see you some day?”
“I am not suggesting that.”
“Then, you never will?”