“Because I can’t feel quite at rest about our being together always. It seems too wonderful. You must understand—it’s only because it is so dear a thing——”
She had spoken hastily, seeing the fear and rebellion in his eyes.
“Betty Berry.... We’re not afraid of being poor. Why not go out and get married to-day—now?”
Her hand went out to him.
“That wouldn’t be fine in us,” she said intensely. “I would feel that we couldn’t be trusted—if we did anything like that.... Oh, that would never keep us together—that is not the great thing. And to-day—what a gray day and bleak. We shall know if that day comes. It will be one such as the butterfly chooses for her emerging. It must not be planned. Such a day comes of itself.... Why, it would be like seizing something precious from another’s hand—before it is offered——”
“And you think you are not beautiful?” he said.
“Yes.”
He tried to tell her how she seemed to him when they were apart—how differently and perfectly the phases of her came.
“It makes me silent,” he went on. “I try to tell just where it is. And sometimes when I am away—I wonder what is so changed and cleansed and buoyant in my heart—and then I know it is you—sustaining.”
“It doesn’t seem to belong to me—what you say,” she answered. “I don’t dare to think of it as mine.... Please don’t think of me as above other women. I am not apart nor above. I am just Betty Berry, who comes and goes and plays—dull in so many ways—as yet, a little afraid to be happy. When you tempt me as now to be happy—it seems I must go and find someone very miserable and do something perfect for him.... But, it is true, I fear nothing so much as that you should believe me more than I am.”