d her lips. "I will make a rough
sketch in the morning and show it you. It won't be a study--only an
idea. You are going to pose for the study."

"I?" she said, half-startled.

"You--yes, you!" His eyes looked deeply into hers. "Haven't you realised
yet that you are my inspiration?" he said. "It is going to be the
picture of my life--'Aphrodite the Beautiful!'"

She quivered afresh at his words. "Am I really--so beautiful?" she
faltered. "Would you think so if--if you didn't love me?"

"Would I have loved you if you weren't?" laughed Knight. "My darling,
you are exquisite as a passion-flower grown in Paradise. To worship you
is as natural to me as breathing. You are heaven on earth to me."

"You love me--because of that?"

"I love you," he answered, "soul and body, because you are you. There is
no other reason, heart of my heart. When my picture of pictures is
painted, then--perhaps--you will see yourself as I see you--and
understand."

She uttered a quick sigh, clinging to him with a hold that was almost
convulsive. "Ah, yes! To see myself with your eyes! I want that. I shall
know then--how much you love me."

"Will you? But will you?" he said, softly derisive. "You will have to
show me yourself and your love--all there is of it--before you can do
that."

She lifted her head from his shoulder. The fire that he had kindled in
her soul was burning in her eyes. "I am all yours--all yours," she told
him passionately. "All that I have to offer is your own."

His face changed a little. The tender mockery passed, and an expression
that was oddly out of place there succeeded it. "Ah, you shouldn't tell
me that, sweetheart," he said, and his voice was low and held a touch of
pain. "I might be tempted to take too much--more than I have any right
to take."

"You have a right to all," she said.

But he shook his head. "No--no! You are too young."

"Too young to love?" she said, with quick scorn.

His arm was close about her. "No," he answered soberly. "Only so young
that you may--possibly--make the mistake of loving too well."

"What do you mean?" Her voice had a startled note; she pressed nearer to
him.

He lifted a hand and pointed to the silver pathway on the sea. "I mean
that love is just moonshine--just moonshine; the dream of a night that
passes."

"Not in a night!" she cried, and there was anguish in the words.

He bent again swiftly and kissed her lips. "No, not in a night,
sweetheart. Not even in t