pulses in his head seemed singing like larks on a summer morning.

"Would you care to see it?" she replied, with a studied sedateness
which Osborn found unutterably sweet, and which did not in the least
deceive the watching mother.

And in a moment the two were alone, it seemed in another world. This
new world was compassed by the walls of the slip of an apartment called
the dining-room, but which was kitchen as well, for there were no maids
in the flat. The top of the oak dresser had been cleared of its bits of
blue china and pewter to make way for the array of wedding gifts, and
they were presented bravely. Perhaps among the display was the last
received of which Mrs. Amber spoke, but whether it was, or was not,
neither Marie nor Osborn cared.

They were alone.

There had pressed upon them, hard and perpetually, during the eighteen
months of their engagement, the many difficulties with which
opportunity is cautiously guarded by its custodians. They met in
restaurants, in parks, and in the homes of either, and seldom could
they be alone; and because they were superior people, not of the class
which loves unashamedly in the public places if it has nowhere else to
love, they restrained themselves. It was a long and hard probation,
lightened sometimes, some rare and precious times, by such moments as
now occurred. As soon as the kitchen-dining-room door closed behind
them like the portals of sanctuary, Osborn held out his arms and Marie
went to them. She rested there while Osborn kissed her with hard,
devouring kisses which made her murmur little pleased protests.