Proud again ?' Not proud: only second fiddle.
'You know, dear Evan, when two people love, there is no such thing as owing between them.' 'Rose, I have been thinking.

It is not too late.

I love you, God knows! I did in Portugal: I do now--more and more.

But Oh, my bright angel!' he ended the sentence in his breast.
'Well?
but--what ?' Evan sounded down the meaning of his 'but.' Stripped of the usual heroics, it was, 'what will be thought of me ?' not a small matter to any of us.

He caught a distant glimpse of the little bit of bare selfishness, and shrank from it.
'Too late,' cried Rose.