"
He caught her hand and drew it to his breast. "The only poetry I know is
the sound of your voice in the wind, the laughter of your lips in the
sun, the delight of your body in the heavenly flowers. Yes, I've drunk
you in the wild woods; I've trailed you on the river; I've heard you in
the grinding storm--always the same, the soul of all beautiful things.
Junia, you shall not put me away from you. You shall be mine, and
you and I together shall win our way to great ends. We will have
opportunity, health, wealth and prosperity. Isn't it worth while?"
"Yes," she answered after a moment, "but it cannot be with you, my
friend."
She withdrew her fingers and stepped back; she made a gesture of friendly
repulsion. "You have said all that can be said, you have gifts greater
than you yourself believe; and I have been tempted; but it is no use,
there are deeper things than luxuries and the magazines of merchandise--
much deeper. No, no, I cannot marry you; if you were as rich as Midas,
as powerful as Caesar, I would not marry you--never, never, never."
"You love another," he said boldly. "You love Carnac Grier."
"I do not love you--isn't that enough?"
"Almost--almost enough," he said, embarrassed.
CHAPTER XXXI
THIS WAY HOME
All Junia had ever felt of the soul of things was upon her as she
arranged flowers and listened to the church bells ringing.
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