"Oh, Osmond Allonby. Poor Osmond!" Leaning back against his arm she turned her beautiful face to his. "I did not know what love meant, then," she said.
He bent his mouth to hers.
"You know now, Elsa?"
Even as he kissed her, a sudden unbidden memory of Claud's warning words rushed in and seemed just to dash the bliss of that caress.
"You ask more than any woman can give?" No, he fiercely told himself, he asked of her nothing but to be just what she was. Was it her fault that Osmond could not look on her without loving? Most certainly not.
Love and happiness, the two things from which this rich young man had been debarred, seemed all his own at last.
Farewell to lonely cruising and aimless travels. His heart's core, his life's aim was found; the birthday of his life had come.
CHAPTER XLI.
Well, you may, you must, set down to me
Love that was life, life that was love;
A tenure of breath at your lips' decree,
A passion to stand as your thoughts approve,
A rapture to fall where your foot might be.