Her slender arm was about his neck; he could feel the glow of its warmth. Her voice was soothing—infinitely soothing, and musical beyond the telling.
"Then keep a-dreaming, My Fool," she purred, softly. It was almost a whisper. "Keep a-dreaming."
"Would to God I could!" he cried, earnestly. "Would to God I could, forever! The memories of a thousand joys are with me always. Love? What is this love? A golden leaf of happiness floating on the summer seas of life. A silver star of utter joy set in the soft heavens of eternity. A dream that is a reality; a reality that is a dream…. But the storm comes upon the sea. Black clouds blot out the stars. And there can be no dream from which there is no awakening."
"Yet," she cajoled, "while the sea smiles—while the star shines—while we dream—there is happiness to pay for all."
"To pay for all, and more!" Again he turned upon her, swiftly. "Yet in the golden aura of that happiness, there always stand three sodden souls pointing stark fingers at me in ghoulish glee…. Parmalee—Rogers— VanDam…. If I thought—if I for one moment thought—that I should be as they, I'd—"
She stopped him, quickly:
"You'd what, My Fool?"
"I'd kill you where you stand!" he replied, savagely.
She laughed, gaily, clapping soft palms.
"That's the way I love you best, My Fool. It shows spirit, and manhood, and good, red blood—red, like our roses!" She plucked from her breast a handful of scarlet petals, casting them above her head. They fell about them both, a glowing shower. She went on: "How for a moment you could have imagined that you love the woman you call wife—a soft, silly, namby-pamby—"