What is time but a relative thing?
Who shall measure your six years against my twelve?
The years that count in the life of a man or a woman are the measure of their happiness." She glided from her chair and sank on her knees beside him.

Her lips pleaded.

He took her gently, far too gently, into his arms.
"Dear Nora," he begged, "be kind to me.

It is for your sake.

I know what love should mean for you, what it must mean for every sweet woman.
You see only the present.