'Mother, may I marry without feeling that--that I love him?'

The face was flushed now for a moment. Adela had never spoken that
word to anyone; even to Letty she had scarcely murmured it. The
effect upon her of hearing it from her own lips was mysterious,
awful; the sound did not die with her voice, but trembled in subtle
harmonies along the chords of her being.

Her mother took the shaken form and drew it to her bosom.

'If he is your husband, darling, you will find that love grows. It
is always so. Have no fear. On his side there is not only love; he
respects you deeply; he has told me so.'

'And you encourage me to accept him, mother? It is your desire? I am
your child, and you can wish nothing that is not for my good. Guide
me, mother. It is so hard to judge for myself. You shall decide for
me, indeed you shall.'

The mother's heart was wrung. For a moment she strove to speak the
very truth, to utter a word about that love which Adela was
resolutely excluding. But the temptation to accept this unhoped
surrender proved too strong. She sobbed her answer.

'Yes, I do wish it, Adela. You will find that I--that I was not
wrong.'

'Then if he asks me, I will marry him.'