"You're doubtful?"
"Sometimes."
"When are the sometimes?"
"It depends—on the sometimes."
"Will there ever come a time when there won't be any sometimes?" he asked, bending toward her.
She looked at him—a dreamy, thoughtful light in her eyes.
"I wonder," she said—"what do you think, mon ami?"
"I don't think—I hope," he replied.
She smiled faintly, but with entrancing sweetness.
"Thank you, Montague," she said low—"I shall not forget—at present, I don't dare remember—you understand?"