"Oh, Greg, the fun of going places together!" She was her happiest
self again. His mother and Alice Valentine and everything else but
their great joy was forgotten as they lingered over their luncheon
and planned for their wedding day.

If they could only have been alone together, always, thought the
new-made wife, when two perfect weeks on the powerful motor boat
were over, and all the society editors were busily announcing that
Doctor and Mrs. James Warren Gregory were furnishing their
luxurious apartment in the Rotterdam, where they would spend the
winter. They were so happy together; there was never enough time
to talk and to be silent, never enough of their little luncheons
all by themselves, their theatre trips, their afternoon drives
through the sweet, clear early winter sunshine on the Park.

Always in the later years Rachael could feel the joy of these days
again when she caught the scent of fresh violets. Never a day
passed that Warren did not send her or bring her a fragrant
boxful. They quivered on the breast of her gown, and on her
dressing-table they made her bedroom sweet. Now and then when she
and Warren were to be alone she braided her dark hair and wound it
about her head, tucking a few violets against the rich plaits,
conscious that the classic simplicity of the arrangement enhanced
her beauty, and was pleased in his pleasure.

It suited her whim to carry out the little affectation in her
soaps and toilet waters; he could not pick up her handkerchief or
hold her wrap for her without freeing the delicate faint odor of
her favorite flower. When they met downtown for dinner there was