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 two. But at last--at last--_tout passe_!"

"Then it isn't love!" she said with conviction.

He snapped his fingers at the moonlight with a gesture half-humorous,
yet half-defiant. "It is life," he said, "and the irony of life. Don't
be too generous, my queen of the sea! Give me what I ask--of your
graciousness! But--don't offer me more! Perhaps I might take it, and
then--"