She, with jealous pangs at this goodnight hour, often thought already of
what a lover he would be when the time came--the time for her to be
pushed aside, to drop out. These last moments of every night were for
love; nothing lived in him but love. She said to herself that he was the
born lover.

As he now withdrew his arms, he sat looking into her eyes with his face
close to hers. Then leaning over, he began to measure his face upon her
face, starting with the forehead, and being very particular when he got
to the long eyelashes, then coming down past the nose. They were very
silly and merry about the measuring of the noses. The noses would not
fit the one upon the other, not being flat enough. He began to indulge
his mischievous, teasing mood:

"Suppose he doesn't like my voice!"

She laughed the idea to scorn.

"Suppose he wouldn't take me!"

"Ah, but he _will_ take you."

"If he wouldn't have me, you'd never want to see me any more, would
you?"

She strained him to her heart and rocked to and fro over him.

"This is what I could most have wished in all the world," she said,
holding him at arm's-length with idolatry.