She stole over to his side and knelt down.
“Rex, if you ever tire of me—if you ever are unkind—if you ever leave me—I think I shall die.”
He drew her to him. “Yvonne,” he whispered, “we can’t always be together.”
“I know it—I’m foolish,” she faltered.
“I shall not always be a student. I shall not always be in Paris, dear Yvonne.”
She leaned closer to him.
“I must go back to America someday.”
“And—and marry?” she whispered, chokingly.
“No—not to marry,” he said, “but it is my home.”
“I—I know it, Rex, but don’t let us think of it. Rex,” she said, some moments after, “are you like all students?”