The Major's philosophic calm was shattered, his placid serenity gone all in a moment; he reached out sudden, passionate arms but without attempting to touch her.
"Betty," he cried, "God knows if I'm presumptuous fool or blessed beyond my hopes, but hear me say—I love you, for all your dainty loveliness, your coquette airs and graces, but, most of all, for the sweet, white, womanly soul of you. And 'tis no flame of youthful passion this, soon to fade, 'tis a man's enduring love desiring all, asking nothing.... I mean, Betty, whether you wed me or no, needs must I love you to the end of time!"
"E'en though I should love and wed another?" she questioned softly.
"Aye, truly!"
"Indeed, you are nobler than I—because"—here she paused to trace out the time-worn lettering on the dial with pink finger-tip—"because if you should love, or wed another, then I—should die of rage and jealousy and grief and——"
The Major's long arms were close about her and, stooping, he kissed her again and again, her fragrant hair, her eyes, her tender mouth.
"O Betty," he sighed, "my beautiful Betty, the wonder of it!"
"O John," she sighed tremulously, "O Jack, indeed 'tis a very furious lover you are! You make love as you fight—as if you loved it—nay, show mercy!" He released her instantly and stood back staring down at her with dazzled eyes.
"Am I rough?" he asked anxiously. "Dear, forgive me! But 'tis all so strange, so unexpected, so marvellous beyond belief! There be so many to love you that I——"
"Shall teach you what love truly is," she murmured, "And I—don't mind—a little roughness, Jack dear!"