"Don't keep me waiting for your answer longer
than you can help, Diana," he added, with a quiet intensity.
"You'll go away from Crailing?" she asked nervously.
He smiled a little sadly.
"Yes, I'll go away. I'll leave you quite free to make your decision,"
he replied.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She knew that if he were to remain at
Crailing, if they were to continue seeing each other almost daily,
there could be but one end to the matter--her conviction that no
happiness could result from such a marriage would go by the board. It
could not stand against the breathless impetuosity of Max's
love-making--not when her own heart was eager and aching to respond.
"Thank you, Max," she said simply, extending her hand.
He put it aside, drawing her into his embrace.
"Beloved," he said, and now there was no passion, no fierceness of
desire in his voice, only unutterable tenderness. "Beloved, please God
you will find it in your heart to be good to me. All my thoughts are
yours, but for that one thing over which I need your faith. . . . I
think no man ever loved a woman so utterly as I love you. And oh!
little white English rose of my heart, I'd never ask more than you
could give. Love isn't all passion. It's tenderness and shielding and
service, dear, as well as fire and flame. A man loves his wife in all
the little ways of daily life as well as in the big ways of eternity.
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