"What could I give you?" she asked, with a swift, eager note in her voice.
"A son," returned Everest, kissing her questioning lips, "just like yourself, all courage and fire, and strength, in body and mind. Would you like that, my sweet?"
She clasped her arms tightly round his neck.
"Anything done for you would be my greatest, my supreme delight! Do you wish for children, Everest?"
"No, not personally, but there is the property. I must have a legitimate son or let it all go to my brother. I should hate to have a weak, mindless, feeble child, which could never happen if Regina were its mother! So if, when my visit here ends, I go away to Scotland for some weeks, as I must do to look after my place, when I come back, you will marry me, will you not?"
"If you wish it—yes," she murmured.
"The suffering, the sacrifices, the danger of maternity, that does not frighten you?"
"No, I am not afraid of anything, Everest."
He looked into her eyes, and in their blue depths he saw that cool, serene courage that he loved, that made his heart throb with admiration, with some sentiment which it was new for him to feel for a woman.
He wanted to tell her this, but he could not at the moment find words in which to define and express it; so in silence he kissed her again, where the sun darting through the leaves lighted up the pink down of her cheek, and, as is the way with lovers, all their talk melted into caresses, and their arguments became kisses, and every thought and emotion were soon merged into mere overwhelming delight in each other.