“Just the one thing,” she said softly, “that is of the smallest value. Yourself.”
“But—” began John.
Elizabeth interrupted him.
“Listen,” she said, and there was a curious earnestness in her voice, “if she doesn’t care for you yourself, nothing else you could offer would have the smallest value in her eyes. At least, not if she’s the woman I take her to be. And she must be that woman, or I don’t for a moment believe you would love her. Oh, John, dear, don’t you understand that women, the right kind of women, don’t want the external things a man can give? They want him himself, and the things that are part of him, the things without which he wouldn’t be himself at all. I mean love, loyalty, friendship. I don’t believe the majority of people have a notion how important the last is. That is why there are so few ideal marriages.”
“Hum!” mused John.
“It’s true,” said Elizabeth.
“Then what is your advice?” demanded John.
“Ask her, of course.” Elizabeth’s tone was refreshingly certain. “You can’t expect her to propose, can you? How do you know that Time isn’t playing exactly the same tricks with her? Ask her,” reiterated Elizabeth, “at the very first opportune moment.”
“That,” said John laughing ruefully, “is precisely what I have been waiting for.”