Vanity retired, now, and Love
had sole command.
He put his arms about her and rained kisses upon her face, her hair,
her eyes. "Say it all again, dear Vergilius--say it a hundred times,"
she whispered.
"My dear one, I love you more than I can say. Now am I prepared to
speak in deeds, in faithfulness, in devotion."
"But, once more, why do you love me? Why me?" said she, moving aside
with an air of preoccupation, her chin resting upon her hand, her elbow
upon the gauze pillow of rose leaves in her lap. "Is it my beauty more
than myself?"
"No," he answered; "your beauty is intoxicating, and I thank the gods
for it, but your sweet self, your soul, is more, far more to me than
your grace and all your loveliness."
She had dreamed of such love but never hoped for it, and now all the
pretty tricks she had thought of had become as the mummery of fools.
She sat in silence for a little space, her eyes upon her girdle, and a
new and serious look came into her face.
"I shall try, then," said she, presently--"I shall try to be noble.
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