He was standing beside her now; she made room on the side of the bed for him with a little gesture of invitation: 

“People who die for each other are less admirable than people who live for each other.  The latter requires the higher type of courage ...  If I go out of your life I am like a dead person to you—­a little worse in fact.  Besides, I’ve shown the white feather and run away.  That’s a cowardly solution of a problem, isn’t it?”

“Am I a coward if I decide to stand back and give you a chance?”

“You haven’t decided to do it,” she said cheerfully, lifting the somnolent cat and hugging it.

“I’m afraid I have, dear.”

“Why?”

“You read my letter?”

“Yes and kissed every line in it.”

He retained sufficient self-control to keep his hands off her—­but that was all; and her eyes, which were looking into his, grew serious and beautiful.

“I love you so,” she breathed.

“I love you, Valerie.”

“Yes....  I know it....  I know you do....”  She sat musing a moment, then:  “And I thought that I knew what it was to love, before you wrote that letter.”  She shook her head, murmuring something to herself.  Then the swift smile curved her lips again, she dumped Gladys out of her lap without ceremony, and leaned her shoulder on Neville’s, resting her cheek lightly against his: 

“It doesn’t seem possible that the problem of life has really been solved for us, Louis.  I can scarcely realise it—­scarcely understand what this heavenly relief means—­this utterly blissful relaxation and untroubled confidence.  There isn’t anything in the world that can harm me, now; is there?”

“Nothing.”

“Nor my soul?”

“It has always been beyond danger.”

“There are those who might tell me differently.”

“Let them talk.  I know.”

“Do you?—­you darling!” Her soft, fragrant mouth touched his cheek, lingered, then she laughed to herself for the very happiness of living.

“Isn’t it wonderful how a word sometimes shatters the fixed ideas that a girl has arrived at through prayer and fasting?  I am beginning to think that no real intelligence can remain very long welded to any one fixed belief.”

“What do you mean, Valerie?” She rested her head on his shoulder and sat considering, eyes remote; then her white fingers crept into his: 

“We won’t talk about it now.  I was wrong in some ways.  You or common sense—­or something—­opened my eyes....  But we won’t talk about it now....  Because there are still perplexities—­some few....  We’ll go over them together—­and arrange matters—­somehow.”

“What matters?”

But she placed a soft hand over his lips, imposing silence, and drew his arm around her with a little sigh of content.

Presently she said:  “Have you noticed my gown?  I made it.”

He smiled and bent forward to look.