She was very quiet, but full of joy. Now that she had told him the truth she did not coy her love. Having once spoken the word she did not care how often she repeated it. She did not think that she could ever have loved anybody but him,--even if he had not been fond of her. As to Roger,--dear Roger, dearest Roger,--no; it was not the same thing. "He is as good as gold," she said,--"ever so much better than you are, Paul," stroking his hair with her hand and looking into his eyes.
"Better than anybody I have ever known," said Montague with all his energy.
"I think he is;--but, ah, that is not everything. I suppose we ought to love the best people best; but I don't, Paul."
"I do," said he.

She was very quiet, but full of joy. She did not think that she could ever have loved anybody but him. As to Roger - dear Roger - no; it was not the same thing. "He is as good as gold," she said, "ever so much better than you are, Paul," stroking his hair with her hand and looking into his eyes.
"Better than anybody I have ever known," said Montague.
"I think he is; but that is not everything. I suppose we ought to love the best people best; but I don't, Paul."
"I do," said he.
