"Not very," he answered, kissing her hand again.
"Dear Geoffrey, you don't think I'm very selfish, do you?" she questioned wistfully.
"No—never that!" he answered, keeping his gaze averted.
"Because if—"
"If?" said he.
"If it is hard for you—" the soft voice faltered.
"Yes, Hermione?"
"If you really think I'm—cruel and—silly, you—needn't wait—any longer—if you wish—"
His arms were about her, drawing her near, clasping her ever closer, and she held him away no more, but—beholding her wistful eyes, the plaintive droop of her vivid mouth, and all the voiceless pleading of her, he loosed her and turned away.
"I love you so much—Hermione, so much, that your will shall be my will."