Ivy's gaze never for a moment drooped under his, earnest and piercing though it was.
"Now I am happy," she said, slowly and distinctly. "Now I am blessed. I can never ask anything more."
"But I ask something more," he replied, bending forward eagerly. "I ask much more. I want your love. Shall I have it? And I want you."
"My love?" She blushed slightly, but spoke without hesitation. "Have I not given it,—long, long before you asked it, before you even cared for my friendship? Not love only, but life, my very whole being, centred in you, does now, and will always. Is it right to say this?—maidenly? But I am not ashamed. I shall always be proud to have loved you, though only to lose you,—and to be loved by you is glory enough for all my future."
For a short time the relative position of these two people was changed. I allude to the change in this distant manner, as all who have ever been lovers will be able to judge what it was; and I do not wish to forestall the sweet surprise of those who have not.
Ivy rested there (query, where?) a moment; but as he whispered, "Thus you answer the second question? You give me yourself too?" she hastily freed herself. (Query, from what?)
"Never!"
"Ivy!"
"Never!" more firmly than before.
"What does this mean?" he said, sternly. "Are you trifling?"