"Really it isn't worth discussing. I shall not marry until I am ready, and the subject bores me." An instant later she turned to regard him with direct eyes.
"Do you remember when I offered to give it all up and go with you,
Boyd?"
"I have never forgotten for an instant,"
"You refused to allow it."
"Certainly! I had seen too much of your life, and my pride figured a bit, also."
"Do you still feel the same way?" Her eyes searched his face rather anxiously.
"I do! It is even more impossible now than then. I am utterly out of touch with this environment. My work will take me back where you could not go—into a land you would dislike, among a people you could not understand. No; we did quite the sensible thing."
She sighed gratefully and settled upon the window-seat, her back to the light. "I am glad you feel that way. I—I—think I am growing more sensible too. I have begun to understand how practical father was, and how ridiculous I was. Perhaps I am not so impulsive—you see, I am years older now—perhaps I am more selfish. I don't know which it is and—I can't express my feelings, but I have had sufficient time since you went away to think and to look into my own soul. Really I have become quite introspective. Of course, my feeling for you is just the same as it was, dear, but I—I can't—" She waved a graceful hand to indicate her surroundings. "Well, this is my world, and I am a part of it. You understand, don't you? The thought of giving it up makes me really afraid. I don't like rough things." She shook herself and gave voice to a delicious, bubbling little laugh. "I am frightfully spoiled." Emerson drew her to him tenderly.
"My darling, I understand perfectly, and I love you too well to take you away from it all; but you will wait for me, won't you?"
"Of course," she replied, quickly. "As long as you wish."