"Not—for the present."
"I see."
"There is nothing to see," she said calmly. But his smile seemed now so genuine that it disarmed her; and she blushed when he said:
"Am I to wish you happiness, Valerie? Is that the trouble?"
"Certainly. Please wish it for me always—as I do for you—and for everybody."
But he continued to laugh, and the colour in her face persisted, annoying her intensely.
"Nevertheless," he said, "I do not believe you can be hopelessly in love."
"What ever put such an idea into that cynical head of yours?"
"Chance," he said. "But you are not irrevocably in love. You are ignorant of what love can really mean. Only he who understands it—and who has suffered through it—can ever teach you. And you will never be satisfied until he does."'
"Are you very wise concerning love, José?" she asked, laughing.