"It isn't a—it isn't what you think—a present or anything like that; but it is something I should like to have you—something that would make me very happy."
"Then tell me what it is," said Jules, impatiently. "What are you afraid of? Am I such an ogre?"
For a moment she did not answer. Then she said timidly: "I wish you'd go to confession before we're married."
He burst into a laugh that rang through the apartment.
"Oh, is that all? So you're afraid to marry such a wicked person as I am till the Church has forgiven him and made him good again."
She shook her head.
"No, it isn't that, Jules. I don't believe you are wicked. I don't believe you ever were; but I should be so much happier if you would go to confession, and then before we're married in church we could go to communion together."
He threw himself beside her chair, seized her head in his hands, and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm not fit to be your husband. You're too good for me," he said softly.
She drew away from him with a smile.
"And will it make you very much happier if I go to confession?" he asked.