"You can trust me to say just what is in my heart?"
She nodded slightly, motionless in his grasp.
"Teresa, darling," said Dane softly, "I love you truly. I love you with
a full heart. It isn't remorse, and it isn't pity, and it isn't
friendship... it's love, Teresa! Look in my eyes, and see if I am
speaking the truth?"
But she had no need to look; the music of love was in his voice, and,
God knew, she was hungry to be convinced. A year's suffering had
carried her beyond the point of finding content in mere possession, but
the knowledge of Dane's love was a salve which healed all wounds. The
"something fine" in Teresa's nature showed itself at this moment in a
generosity of reticence infinitely endearing to the masculine mind.
Dane waited shrinkingly to hear Cassandra's name, but he waited in vain.
Teresa asked no questions, demanded no vows,--all that was past, it was
buried for ever out of mind, at the moment when for the second time she
promised herself to Dane Peignton and felt his kiss of betrothal on her
lips.