And Bettina trembled—and listened.
It seemed to her that throughout her life she had waited to hear that which Justin was saying to her now.
"You were made for me—dear. In my dreams there has always been a girl like you—little and white and helpless—but vivid, too, in flashes. When I saw you for the first time in that dark room on that rainy day I knew that you were—mine. I know I'm not good enough for you. I know that if you should ever marry me I should thank God on my knees every day of my life. But it isn't conceit which makes me believe that you and I have been coming toward each other always. I don't know why you gave me back the silver ring. At this moment I don't care—although the other night my world went to pieces—but just now, what you said,—and the way you said it, that you would fly with me forever,—made me feel that all the things I had hoped were true——"
Bettina felt as if their souls were bared. What conventional thing could she say which would hide her joy? Her eyes would tell him though her lips might not.
As if he read her thoughts he bent down to her. "Look at me," he urged, and again, "My dear one—is it, then, really—true?"
She knew now that she was Justin's and he was hers until the end of time. By all the white wonder of her thoughts she knew it. By all the quickened blood in her beating heart. What she had felt for Anthony was the affection of an unawakened nature—she had given him gratitude, friendship—but between them were the years across which she must look somewhat timidly; between them was his sadness, which oppressed her, and his profession, which she feared.
But here was youth, which she understood, and romance, for which she had longed, and love at white-heat.
Thus, as she soared with Justin, she forgot past promises and future judgments, and whispered, "It is true——"
After that they talked in the language of youth and love.