"Dearest—dearest," he breathed, "I know—I understand—I ask your pardon. And I worship you."
Then a swift, smiling change passed over her face; and, her hands still resting on his shoulders, kneeling there before him, she bent forward and kissed him on the forehead.
"Pax," she said. "You are forgiven. Love me enough, Louis. And when I am quite sure you do, then—then—you may ask me, and I will answer you."
"I love you now, enough."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Then—ask," she said, faintly.
His lips moved in a voiceless question, she could not hear him, but she understood.
"In a year, I think," she answered, forcing her eyes to meet his, but the delicate rose colour was playing over her cheeks and throat.
"As long as that?"