“Dearest—­dearest,” he breathed, “I know—­I understand—­I ask your pardon.  And I worship you.”

Then a swift, smiling change passed over her face; and, her hands still resting on his shoulders, kneeling there before him, she bent forward and kissed him on the forehead.

“Pax,” she said.  “You are forgiven.  Love me enough, Louis.  And when I am quite sure you do, then—­then—­you may ask me, and I will answer you.”

“I love you now, enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then—­ask,” she said, faintly.

His lips moved in a voiceless question, she could not hear him, but she understood.

“In a year, I think,” she answered, forcing her eyes to meet his, but the delicate rose colour was playing over her cheeks and throat.

“As long as that?”

“That is not long.  Besides, perhaps you won’t learn to love me enough even by that time.  Do you think you will?  If you really think so—­perhaps in June—­”

She watched him as he pressed her hands together and kissed them; laughed a little, shyly, as she suddenly divined a new tenderness and respect in his eyes—­something matching the vague exaltation of her own romantic dreams.

“I will wait all my life if you wish it,” he said.

“Do you mean it?”

“You know I do, now.”

She considered him, smiling.  “If you truly do feel that way—­perhaps—­perhaps it might really be in June—­or in July—­”

“You said June.”

“Listen to the decree of the great god Kelly!  He says it must be in June, and he shakes his thunderbolts and frowns.”

“June!  Say so, Valerie,”

“You have said so.”

“But there’s no use in my saying so if—­”

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, “the great god totters on his pedestal and the oracle falters and I see the mere man looking very humbly around the corner of the shrine at me, whispering, ’June, if you please, dear lady!’”

“Yes,” he said, “that’s what you see and hear.  Now answer me, dear.”

“And what am I to say?”

“June, please.”

“June—­please,” she repeated, demurely.

“You darling!...  What day?”

“Oh, that’s too early to decide—­”

“Please, dear!”

“No; I don’t want to decide—­”

“Dearest!”

“What?”

“Won’t you answer me?”

“If you make me answer now, I’ll be tempted to fix the first of April.”

“All right, fix it.”

“It’s All Fool’s day, you know,” she threatened.  “Probably it is peculiarly suitable for us....  Very well, then, I’ll say it.”

She was laughing when he caught her hands and looked at her, grave, unsmiling.  Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled.

“Forgive me, I meant no mockery,” she whispered.  “I had already fixed the first day of June for—­for the great change in our lives.  Are you content?”