"I can't believe it!" she said.

"If I love you like this after fifty-four minutes of married life, how
do you suppose I shall feel after fifty-four years of it?" He flung an
arm about her waist, and hid his face against her knee. "We are married,"
he said, in a smothered voice.

She bent over and kissed his thick hair, silently. At which he sat up
and looked at her with blue, eager eyes.

"It just came over me! Oh, Eleanor, suppose I hadn't got you? You said
'No' six times. You certainly did behave very badly," he said, showing
his white teeth in a broad grin.

"Some people win say I behaved very badly when I said 'Yes.'"

"Tell 'em to go to thunder! What does Mrs. Maurice Curtis (doesn't that
sound pretty fine?) care for a lot of old cats? Don't we _know_ that we
are in heaven?" He caught her hand and crushed it against his mouth. "I
wish," he said, very low, "I almost wish I could die, now, here! At your
feet. It seems as if I couldn't live, I am so--" He stopped. So--what?
Words are ridiculously inadequate things!... "Happiness" wasn't the name
of that fire in his breast, Happiness? "Why, it's God," he said to
himself; "_God._" Aloud, he said, again, "We are married!"

She did not speak--she was a creature of alluring silences--she just put
her hand in his. Suddenly she began to sing; there was a very noble
quality in the serene sweetness of her voice:

"O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down