“If you will swear that there is no thought of another woman in your heart,” she answered seriously.
A pang of conscience smote me; but inwardly I reassured myself that all the fascination of Yolande had been dispelled and that my love was free.
“I swear,” I said; then slowly I bent until our lips touched.
Hers met mine in a fierce, passionate caress, and by that I knew our compact was sealed.
“I admit,” she said, “that my instinct, if it were instinct, was wrong. You have, after all, proved yourself loyal to me.”
“And I shall remain so, darling,” I assured her, kissing her again upon the brow. “For the present you must be content to remain with your aunt; but nevertheless, try to persuade her to come to Paris. Then we can spend many happy days together.”
“She hates the Continent and foreigners,” answered my love with a brightening smile. “I fear I can never persuade her to move from here. She went to Switzerland twenty years ago, and has never ceased condemning foreign travel.”
“If she will not come, then why not engage a chaperon? You surely know some pleasant woman who would be pleased to have a holiday jaunt.”
“Well,” she answered dubiously, “I’ll try, but I fear Aunt Hetty will never hear of it.”
“The life in the profound stillness of that house and the rigid seclusion from all worldly enjoyment are producing an ill effect upon your health, darling,” I said presently. “You must have a change. It is imperative.”