'No, you are not a child,' he repeated, and then he stopped all of a sudden; his wooing had grown difficult to him. He had never liked her so well, he had never regarded her with such proud fondness, as now, when she pleaded with him for toleration of her undeveloped youth. For one swift instant a consciousness of the truth of her words struck home to him with a keen sense of pain, marring the pleasant harmony of his dream; but when, he looked at her again it was gone.
And yet how was he to answer her? It was not petting fondness she wanted—not even ordinary love-speeches—only rest from an uneasy fear that harassed her repose—an assurance, mute or otherwise, that she was sufficient for his peace. If he understood her aright, this was what she wanted.
'Polly, I do not think you need to be afraid,' he said at last, hesitating strangely over his words. 'I understand you, my darling; I know what you mean; but I do not think you need be afraid.'
'Ah, if I could only feel that!' she whispered.
'I will make you feel it; listen to me, dear. We men are odd, unaccountable beings; we have moods, our work worries us, we have tired fits now and then, nothing is right, all is vanity of vanity, disgust, want of success, blurred outlines, opaque mist everywhere—then it is I shall want my little comforter. You will be my veritable Sunbeam then.'
'But if I fail you?'
'Hush, you will never fail me. What heresy, what disbelief in a wife's first duty! Do you know, Polly, it is just three years since I first dreamt of the beneficent fairy who was to rise up beside my hearth.'
'You thought of me three years ago?'
'Thought of you? No, dreamt of you, fairy. You know you came to me first in a ladder of motes and beams. Don't you remember Dad Fabian's attic, and the picture of Cain, and the strange guardian coming in through the low doorway?'
'Yes, I remember; you startled me.'