“Are you happy that you are here?” The touch and the voice, the perfume of her hair so close to his face, the distant music, the charm of the evening, produced their intoxication.
“Minna!” he whispered.
“Yes?”
The girl’s heart throbbed tumultuously. She had waited weeks and weeks in patience for that note of passion. She hung breathlessly on his lips for their next utterance.
“I give up the waiting. I might strive till Doomsday. I don’t care. Anything you wish. Only, soon.”
“Yes, very soon,” she murmured, with an adorable catch in her voice. “At a registrar’s—almost at once.”
“I’ll give notice to-morrow—Tuesday will be the day.”
He had yielded. There was only one Irene in the world. She was beyond his reach. The only other woman he desired lay ready to his arms. And she had money, money, money—the only talisman for happiness in this world. Yet it was a hateful thought.
Even at this moment he cursed the temptation, fiercely fooled himself into the conviction that it did not enter into his plans. He loved her. It was a love match, pure and simple.
“Would you be willing, Minna,” he asked, in a low voice, “to let the marriage be a secret, until I can put my affairs in order?”