“Adele! do you know what you have done?—the most—h’m!—the most satisfactory thing I could have wished for in life.”
“Nothing radical, I trust, or I probably shall regret it;” her voice fading away towards the last in secret amusement.
“God knows! The Lord only knows how much trouble it will save us—after we’re settled.”
“Don’t swear, my dear, don’t swear! I’ve been thinking about it for some time. It’s the kind of philosophy I really believe in.”
“So do I,” said Paul, his voice betraying strong feeling.
“Not to bother with ’osophies or sophistries, anthropologies or any other apologies,” said Adele. “I want to live a free, open life—a life in the open.”
“Take things as they are.”
“Yes, and people as we find them—try to do them good.”
A pause followed.
Paul was striving to grasp within his own consciousness what an admirable girl Adele was, and how happy he ought to be with such a true woman for his wife; but such thoughts only confused him. All he could do was to whisper, more to himself than to her, the old, old words, “How I do love you, love you with all my heart!”