In front of her door he held out his hand.
"Promise me one thing," he said, as she laid her fingers in his and looked
up at him. Her eyes were still full of tears.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Promise that you will be my wife, when you are convinced that all this
good fortune is real. You do not believe in it, though I cannot tell why.
I only ask that when you are obliged to believe in it, you will do as I
ask."
Vjera hesitated, and as she stood still the hand he held trembled
nervously.
"I promise," she said, at last, as though with a great effort. Then, all
at once, she covered her eyes and leaned against the door-post. He laid
his hand caressingly upon her shoulder.
"Is it so hard to say?" he asked, tenderly.
"Oh, but if it should ever be indeed true!" she moaned. "If it should--if
it should!"
"What then? Shall we not be happy together? Will it not be even pleasant
to remember these wretched years?"
"But if it should turn out so--oh, how can I ever be a fitting wife for
you, how can I learn all that a great lady must think, and do, and say? I
shall be unworthy of you--of your new friends, of your new world--but
then, it cannot really happen. No--do not speak of it any more, it hurts
me too much--good-night, good-night! Let us sleep and forget, and go back
to our work in the morning, as though nothing had happened--in the
morning, to-morrow. Will you? Then good-night."
"There will be no work to-morrow," he said, returning to his argument.
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