“Sweetheart, you are unfair. I am but working for that proud future which you shall share with me.”
“I should like more of present joy and less of future hope.”
“Is not the future,” said Milton, “worth a sacrifice?”
“I am like a miser with his gold. I can spare nothing of that which is mine.”
Milton seized her hand, raised it to his heart, and swore that his love was completely and fully hers.
“Do you wish me,” he said, “to abandon my profession? Say but the word, and I will.”
“Would you do that for me?” almost whispered Marie.
“As surely as I live,” he replied.
“And do you think I would accept such a sacrifice?”