How ashamed it makes me to think of things I said and did in those days!' She was silent, leaning her head against his shoulder.
'Do you ever think of me as I was at Dunfield ?' she asked presently, with timid utterance, hardly above her breath, risking what she had never yet dared.
'No,' he answered, 'I think of the present.' His voice was a little hard, from the necessity of commanding it.
'You did not know that I loved you then?
Think of me! Pity me!' He made no answer.

Beatrice spoke again, her face veiled against him, her arms pressing closer.
'You love me with perfect love?
I have your whole heart ?' 'I love you only, Beatrice.' 'And with love as great as you ever knew?
Say that to me--Wilfrid, say that!' She clung to him with passion which was almost terrible.

'Forgive me! Only remember that you are my life, my soul! I cannot have less than that.' He would have been cased in triple brass if music such as this had not melted into his being.

He gave her the assurance she yearned for, and, in giving it, all but persuaded himself that he spoke the very truth.
The need of affirming his belief drew from him such words as he had the secret of; Beatrice sighed in an anguish of bliss.
'Oh, let me die now! It is only for this that I have lived.' Wilfrid had foreseen and dreaded this questioning.

From any woman it was sooner or later to be expected, and Beatrice was as exacting as she was passionate.