fraid you MUST go on; but
try to read without realising. Leave the realising to me."

And Nurse Rosemary read on.

"When you lifted your head in the moonlight and gazed long and
earnestly at me--Ah, those dear eyes!--your look suddenly made me
self-conscious. There swept over me a sense of my own exceeding
plainness, and of how little there was in what those dear eyes saw, to
provide reason, for that adoring look. Overwhelmed with a shy shame I
pressed your head back to the place where the eyes would be hidden; and
I realise now what a different construction you must have put upon that
action. Garth, I assure you, that when you lifted your head the second
time, and said, 'My wife,' it was the first suggestion to my mind that
this wonderful thing which was happening meant--marriage. I know it
must seem almost incredible, and more like a child of eighteen, than a
woman of thirty. But you must remember, all my dealings with men up to
that hour had been handshakes, heartiest comradeship, and an occasional
clap on the shoulder given and received. And don't forget, dear King of
my heart, that, until one short week before, you had been amongst the
boys who called me 'good old Jane,' and addressed me in intimate
conversation as 'my dear fellow'! Don't forget that I had always looked
upon you as YEARS younger than myself; and though a strangely sweet tie
had grown up between us, since the evening of the concert at Overdene,
I had never realised it as love. Well--you will remember how I asked
for twelve hours to consider my answer; and you yielded, immediately;
(you were so perfect, all the time, Garth) and left me, when I asked to
be alone; left me, with a gesture I have never forgotten. It was a
revelation of the way in which the love of a man such as you exalts the
woman upon whom it is outpoured. The hem of that gown has been a sacred
thing to me, ever since. It is always with me, though I never wear
it.--A detailed account of the hours which followed, I shall hope to
give you some day, my dearest. I cannot write it. Let me hurl on to
paper, in all its crude ugliness, the miserable fact which parted us;
turning our dawning joy to disillusion and sadness. Garth--it was this.
I did not believe your love would stand the test of my plainness. I
knew what a worshipper of beauty you were; how you must have it, in one
form or another, always around you. I got out my diary in which I had
recorded verbatim our conversation about the