"Yes," she said, "it is really great…. And, somehow, I am lonely.
Take me, Louis."
He drew her into his arms. She lay very silent against his breast for a while, and at last raised her curiously troubled eyes.
"You are going to be a very, very great painter, aren't you, Louis?"
He laughed and kissed her, watching her face.
"Don't be too great—so great that I shall feel too—too lonely," she whispered.
Then his eyes fell upon the ring which he had given her—and which she had gently put aside. She was wearing it on her betrothal finger.
"Where did you—find it?" he said unsteadily.
"In its box on your dresser."
"Do you realise what it means?"
"Yes…. And I am wearing it."