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And so he
stood silent, till Thelma grew anxious.
"Ah, you are not satisfied!" she said plaintively. "I am not as you
wish! There is something wrong."
He drew her closely into his arms, kissing her with an almost pathetic
tenderness.
"Thelma, my love, my sweet one!" and his strong voice trembled. "You do
not know--how should you? what I think of you! Satisfied? Pleased? Good
Heavens--what little words those are to express my feelings! I can tell
you how you look, for nothing can ever make _you_ vain. You are
beautiful! . . . you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and
you look your very best tonight. But you are more than beautiful--you
are good and pure and true, while society is--But why should I destroy
your illusions? Only, my wife,--we have been all in all to each
other,--and now I have a foolish feeling as if things were going to be
different--as if we should not be so much together--and I wish--I wish
to God I could keep you all to myself without anybody's interference!"
She looked at him in wonder, though she smiled.


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