More than ever in those few moments she realised the spiritual qualities of his face.
His eyes were aglow.

His voice, a little broken with emotion, was wonderfully tender.

He looked at her as though she were some precious and sacred thing.
"I am rich," he said, "and there are few parts of the world where we could not live.

We could find our way to the islands, like your great writer Stevenson in whom you delight so much; islands full of colour, and wonderful birds, and strange blue skies; islands where the peace of the tropics dulls memory, and time heats only in the heart.

The world is a great place, Philippa, and there are corners where the sordid crime of this ghastly butchery has scarcely been heard of, where the horror and the taint of it are as though they never existed, where the sun and moon are still unashamed, and the grey monsters ride nowhere upon the sapphire seas." "It sounds like a fairy tale," she murmured, with a half pathetic smile.
"Love always fashions life like a fairy tale," he replied.
She stood perfectly still.
"You must have my answer now, at this moment ?" she asked at last.
"There are yet some hours," he told her.