"That is exactly what I will not do to your life, Louis! Can't you understand? Is your mother less dear to you than was mine to me? I will not break your heart! I will not humiliate either you or her; I will not ask her to endure—or any of your family—or one man or woman in that world where you belong…. I am too proud—and too merciful to you!"
"I am my own master!" he broke out, angrily—
"I am my own mistress—and incidentally yours," she added in a low voice.
"Valerie!"
"Am I not?" she asked, quietly.
"How can you say such a thing, child!"
"Because it is true—or will be. Won't it?" She lifted her clear eyes to his, unshrinking—deep brown wells of truth untroubled by the shallows of sham and pretence.
His face burned a deep red; she confronted him, slender, calm eyed, composed: "I am not the kind of woman who loves twice. I love you so dearly that I will not marry you. That is settled. I love you so deeply that I can be happy with you unmarried. And if this is true, is it not better for me to tell you? I ask nothing except love; I give all I have—myself."
She dropped her arms, palms outward, gazing serenely at him; then blushed vividly as he caught her to him in a close embrace, her delicate, full lips crushed to his.
"Dearest—dearest," he whispered, "you will change your ideas when you understand me better—"