"There is no use in our quarrelling, Louis—until the time comes when some outsider forces us into an unhappy misunderstanding. Kiss me good-bye, dear."
She lifted her face; he kissed her; and her hand closed impulsively on his arm:
"Louis! Louis! I love you. I am so proud of you—I—you know I love you, don't you?"
"Yes—I think so."
"You know I am devoted to your happiness!—your real happiness—which those blinded eyes in that obstinate head of yours refuse to see. Believe me—believe me, dear, that your real happiness is not in this pretty, strange girl's keeping. No, no, no! You are wrong, Louis—terribly and hopelessly wrong! Because happiness for you lies in the keeping of another woman—a woman of your own world, dear—of your own kind—a gently-bred, lovable, generous girl whom you, deep in your heart and soul, love, unknowingly—have always loved!"
He shook his head, slowly, looking down into his sister's eyes.
She said, almost frightened:
"You—you won't do it—suddenly—without letting us know—will you,
Louis?"
"What?"
"Marry this girl!"