"Of course, I know he isn't a saint," admitted Carlotta. "But you don't understand. It is real with Alan this time. He really cares. It isn't just—just the one thing."
"It is always the one thing with Alan Massey's kind. I know what I am talking about, Carlotta. He was a little in love with me once. I dare say we both thought it was different at the time. It wasn't. It was pretty much the same thing. Don't cherish any romantic notions about love, Carlotta. There isn't any love as you mean it."
"Oh yes, there is," denied Carlotta suddenly, a little fiercely. "There is love, but most of us aren't—aren't worthy of it. It is too big for us. That is why we get the cheap little stuff. It is all we are fit for."
Miss Carlotta stared at her niece. But before she could speak Hal
Underwood had claimed the latter for a dance.
"H—m!" she mused looking after the two. "So even Carlotta isn't immune.
I wonder who he was."
Meanwhile, out in the garden Tony and Alan had strayed over to the fountain, just as they had that first evening after that first dance.
"Tony, belovedest, let me speak. Listen to me just once more. You do love me. Don't lie to me with your lips when your eyes told me the truth in there. You are mine, mine, my beautiful, my love—all mine."
He drew her into his arms, not passionately but gently. It was his gentleness that conquered. A storm of unrestrained emotion would have driven her away from him, but his sudden quiet strength and tenderness melted her last reservation. She gave her lips unresisting to his kiss. And with that kiss, desire of freedom and all fear left her. For the moment, at least, love was all and enough.
"Tony, my belovedest," he whispered. "Say it just once. Tell me you love me." It was the old, old plea, but in Tony's ears it was immortally new.
"I love you, Alan. I didn't want to. I have fought it all along as you know. But it was no use. I do love you."