"More than you are of me, Frank?" she persisted.

"Oh, it isn't the same sort of thing, Florence," he said. "I never
even thought of comparing you and her together. Surely you know
that? Surely you understand that?"

"You used to--to love me once, Frank," she said, with a stifled
sob. "Has she made it any less? Has she robbed me, Frank? Have I
lost you without knowing it?"

"No," he said, "no, a thousand times, no!"

"Tell me that you love me, Frank," she burst out. "Tell me, tell
me!" Then, as he did not answer, she went on passionately: "That's
why I went to sea, Frank. I was mad with jealousy. I couldn't give
you up to her. I couldn't let her have you!"

She pressed closer against him, and tiptoeing so as to raise her
mouth to his ear, she whispered: "I always liked you better than
anybody else in the world, Frank. I love you! I love you!"

For the moment he could not realise his own good fortune. He could
do nothing but look into her eyes. It was her reproach for years
afterwards that she had to kiss him first.

"I suppose it had to come, Frank," she said. "I fought all I
could, but it didn't seem any use!"

"It was inevitable," he returned solemnly. "God made you for me,
and me for you!"