She made as though to speak, looked at him, hesitated, her lovely face eloquent under the impulse.

Then, leaning toward him, she said: "'And thy ways shall be my ways.'" "Sylvia, you must not deny yourself, just because I--" "Let me.

It is the happiest thing I have ever done for myself." "But I don't wish it." "Ah, but I do," she said, the low excited laughter scarcely fluttering her lips.

"Listen: I never before, in all my life, gave up anything for your sake, only this one little pitiful thing." "I won't let you!" he breathed; "it is nonsense to--" "You must let me! Am I to be on friendly terms with--with your mortal enemy ?" She was still smiling, but now her sensitive mouth quivered suddenly.
He sat silent, considering her, his restless fingers playing with his glass in which the harmless bubbles were breaking.
"I drink to your health, Stephen," she said under her breath.

"I drink to your happiness, too; and--and to your fortune, and to all that you desire from fortune." And she raised her glass in the star-light, looking over it into his eyes.
"All I desire from fortune ?" he repeated significantly.
"All--almost all--" "No, all," he demanded.
But she only raised the glass to her lips, still looking at him as she drank.
They became unreasonably gay almost immediately, though the beverage scarcely accounted for the delicate intoxication that seemed to creep into their veins.