“To marry, one must first love.”
“That’s very true.”
“And I—I must love—blindly!”
She brought out the word with desperate, yearning emphasis.
“And may you not love blindly?” he asked.
He could not fathom, at that moment, the mystery that lay back of her marvelous, grief-burdened eyes; but, long afterward, he remembered the way she looked upon him, and then he knew.
“God forbid!” she cried. Then, suddenly, the incongruity, the boldness, the unwomanliness of what she had been saying flashed upon her, and she covered her face with her hands. Seeing how great was her perturbation he sought to soothe her.
“Never mind!” he said; “we’ll not discuss it any more now. Some other time perhaps.”
She took her hands down from her eyes.