"Opal, we were made for each other from the beginning—surely we were. Some imp has slipped into the scheme of things somewhere and turned it upside down."
He paused. She looked up searchingly into his eyes.
"Paul, do you love me?"
"Yes, dearest!"
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I am of my own existence! With all my heart, Opal—with all my soul!"
"Then we mustn't see each other any more!"
"Not any more. You are right, Opal, not any more!"
"But what shall we do, Paul? We shall be sure to meet often. You expect to stay the summer through, do you not? And we are not going to New Orleans for several weeks yet—and then?"
"We are going West, Father Paul and I—out on the prairies to rough it for a while. We were going before long, anyway, and a few weeks sooner or later won't make any difference. And then—home, back over the sea again, to face life, to work, to try to be—strong, I suppose."