Her lover gazed at her in dazed silence. The butterflies floated in the summer air, a bee buzzed about a wayside flower, from afar came the tinkle of a brook. A deep peace was on all things—only in the hearts of the two littérateurs was pain and consternation.
The Confession of Ellaline.
"You can never marry me!" repeated John Beveridge at last. "And why not?"
"I have told you. Because you are Addiper."
"But that is no reason."
"Is it not?" she said. "I thought Addiper would have a subtler apprehension."
"But what is it you object to in me?"
"To your genius, of course."
"To my genius!"