"May I ask you a very plain question?"
"What is that?"
"If I were not very clever, if I did not write those smart stories and those clever papers, would you, just for myself, just for my face, and my heart, and my nature, would you desire me as your wife?"
"That is scarcely a fair thing to ask, for I should never have met you had you not been just what you are."
"Well, do you love me?" said Florence again.
"You are a very strange girl. I think on the whole I do love you. I fully expect to love you very much when you are my wife."
"Did you ever love anybody else better than you love me?"
"I didn't expect, Miss Aylmer, to be subjected to this sort of cross-questioning. There was once a girl—" A new note came into Franks's voice, and for the first time those eyes of his were softened.
"She died," he said softly; "you can never be jealous of her: she is in her grave. Had she lived we should have been married long ago. Don't let us talk of her to-night. You and I can have a brilliant career. Will you say 'yes'?"
"I cannot answer you to-night. You must give me time."