"Such a queer, topsy-turvy world," she sighed, letting her hand wander from his shoulder to his thick, short hair. She caressed his forehead thoughtfully.
"I suppose some man will say that of me some day…. But that is a little matter—compared to making life happy for you…. To be your mistress could never make me unhappy."
"To be your husband—and to put an end to all these damnable doubts and misgivings and cross-purposes would make me happy all my life!" he burst out with a violence that startled her.
"Hush, Louis. We must not begin that hopeless argument again."
"Valerie! Valerie! You are breaking my heart!"
"Hush, dear. You know I am not."
She looked down at him; her lip was trembling.
Suddenly she slid down to the floor and knelt there confronting him, her arms around him.
"Dearer than all the world and heaven!—do you think that I am breaking your heart? You know I am not. You know what I am doing for your sake, for your family's sake, for my own. I am only giving you a love that can cause them no pain, bring no regret to you. Take it, then, and kiss me."
But the days were full of little scenes like this—of earnest, fiery discussions, of passionate arguments, of flashes of temper ending in tears and heavenly reconciliation.