Yet her lips were ready to lend themselves to a smile of blissful
satisfaction and her eyes to fill with the melting mood of the thought
that at last happiness had come to her.
The silence was very brief, but Littleton, as would have seemed fitting
to her, feared lest she were shocked.
"I distress you," he said. "Forgive me. Listen--will you listen?" Selma
was glad to listen. The words of love, such love as this, were
delicious, and she felt she owed it to herself not to be won too easily.
"I am listening," she answered softly with the voice of one face to face
with an array of doubts.
"Before I met you, Selma, woman but was a name to me. My life brought me
little into contact with them, except my dear sister, and I had no
temptation to regret that I could not support a wife. Yet I dreamed of
woman and of love and of a joy which might some day come to me if I
could meet one who fulfilled my ideal of what a true woman should be. So
I dreamed until I met you. The first time I saw you, Selma, I knew in my
heart that you were a woman whom I could love. Perhaps I should have
recognized more clearly as time went on that you were more to me even
then than I had a right to allow; yet I call heaven to witness that I
did not, by word or sign, do a wrong to him who has done such a cruel
wrong to you.
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