Should the thing prove impossible, he had nothing whatever on his conscience.
He held out his arms to her.

Monica shook her head and looked away.
'Say once more that you love me, darling,' he pleaded.

'I shall not rest for an hour until I am able to write and say, "Come to me."' She permitted him to hold her once more in his soft embrace.
'Kiss me, Monica!' She put her lips to his cheek, and withdrew them, still shunning his look.
'Oh, not that kind of kiss.

Like you kissed me before.' 'I can't,' she replied, with choking voice, the tears again starting forth.
'But what have I done that you should love me less, dearest ?' He kissed the falling drops, murmuring assurances, encouragements.
'You shan't leave me until I have heard you say that your love is unchanged.

Whisper it to me, sweetest!' 'When we meet again--not now.' 'You frighten me.