"You are young, my man; you will never grow old. And you will play at
the dinner? And you will play to me? I always know when you play to me."
"Yes, for it is always. You are good to me now, _bien-aimee_."
His gentleness was wonderfully appealing, as it always was to her. The
long respite from nerve-racking misunderstandings had allowed her to see
more clearly the real beauty of his faulty character, and a wave of
compunction came over her as she thought how little she, with her bad
qualities of jealousy, selfishness and cruelty, deserved this beautiful
love.
For she fully understood that only a deep, real love could so vanquish
the lower part of his nature as to let the nobler triumph as it had of
late.
"I adore you, my great man," she said, very low, and their eyes met.
Then they crossed the street and he, leaning over the closed half of the
door in the wall, opened it and they went in.
It was nine o'clock, and the old people had had their supper. Brigit who
had, thinking of their great age, rather expected to find them more or
less mummy-like, sitting in comfortable chairs tended by a middle-aged
relation, was somewhat amused to find them squabbling fiercely over a
game of dominoes, each with a glass of cider at hand.
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