"I was thinking what I should do if--if anything happened to part us."
"But nothing ever will happen," he said; "nothing can part us but death. I know what would happen to me if I lost you, Beatrice."
"What?" she asked, looking up into the handsome, kindly face.
"I should not kill myself," he said, "for I hold life to be a sacred gift; but I should go where the face of no other woman would smile upon me. Why do you talk so dolefully, Beatrice? Let us change the subject. Tell me where you would like to go when we are married--shall it be France, Italy, or Spain?"
"Would nothing ever make you love me less, Hubert?" she asked. "Neither poverty nor sickness?"
"No," he replied; "nothing you can think of or invent."
"Nor disgrace?" she continued; but he interrupted her half angrily.
"Hush!" he said, "I do not like such a word upon your lips; never say it again. What disgrace can touch you? You are too pure, too good."