“Why?—beloved also.”
“Because you might have had any one of the effete noblemen of Europe, and escaped newspapering.”
“But I would only have been satisfied with a crowned head.”
“I suppose even that is possible to the ‘prevalent goddess’”—he was reading from a newspaper.
“I have it!” laughed his wife, touching the plate which covered his wound.
And then, I am almost sorry to say, yet not quite, that a little mist came into the eyes of the Ravant who had once been a brute, and he remembered all those hospital days.
“How splendid you have become,” he said.
“Thanks to you,” she whispered in his arms, where still he was the savage Ravant and always would be.
“But all I am you have made of me!”
“But, too, all I am you have made of me!” she laughed.