" St. George wondered how he could ever
have thought that he even guessed what happiness might be when
"trouble for us" was like this. He tried to say so, and then:
"But do you know what you are doing?" he persisted. "Don't you
see--dear, don't you see that by loving me you are giving up a world
that you can never, never get back?"
Olivia looked down at the fair disordered hair on his temples. It
seemed incredible that she had the right to push it from his
forehead. But it was not incredible. To prove it Olivia touched it
back. To prove that _that_ was not incredible, St. George turned
until his lips brushed her wrist.
"Don't you know, don't you, dear," he pressed the matter, "that very
possibly these people here have really got the secret that all the
rest of the world is talking about and hoping about and dreaming
they will sometime know?"
Olivia heard of this likelihood with delicious imperturbability.
"I know a secret," she said, just above her breath, "worth two of
that."
"You'll never be sorry--never?" he urged wistfully, resolutely
denying himself the entire bliss of that answer.
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