"I'm asking you to marry me--to come to mother and me. We'll make the best of it together."
Her eyes met his clearly now, but her face was pale and cold. She was openly incredulous and frightened.
Her Birthright
"I mean it, dear. Don't be afraid. Oh, Rosemary, can't you trust me?"
"Trust you? Yes, a thousand times, yes!"
He drew her closer. "And love me--a little?"
"Love you?" The last light shone upon her face and the colour surged back in waves. She seemed exalted, transfigured, as by a radiance that shone from within.
He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. "Kiss me, won't you, dear?"
And so, Rosemary came to her woman's birthright, in the shelter of a man's arms.