"Did I," hesitated Rose, "are you sure—that I said—another man, or was it just—a man?"
"Rose! What do you mean?"
Covered with lovely confusion, she stumbled over to the window, where she might hide her burning face from him. "Don't you think," she asked, unsteadily, "that it is beautiful here? This is Aunt Francesca's little house, where she came when she was first married. She always calls it 'the little house where Love lived.'"
"And I came here," she went on, courageously, "because, in a house where
Love—had lived, I thought there might be some—for—"
Her voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur. "Rose," cried Allison, "couldn't you give me just what I had before? Couldn't we go back, and never mind the other man?"
"There's never any going back," she answered, in a whisper. Her heart was beating wildly because he was so near. "And did I say—are you sure I said—another man?"
"Rose! Rose! Look at me! Tell me, for God's sake, who he was—or is. I can't bear it!"
She turned toward him. "Look," she said, softly. "Look in my face and see."
For a tense instant he hesitated. Then, with a little cry of joy, he clasped her close forever, having seen his own face mirrored in her happy eyes.