passion with her; already it was nearly that.

"Of course," Philip continued, "you must tell me everything, and I'll
understand. And as for what we'll think of this in another year, why,
doesn't it hold to reason that we'll think it the best day of our lives--
as it is, Guida?" He smiled at her, and touched her shining hair. "Evil
can't come out of good, can it? And this is good, as good as anything in
the world can be. . . . There, look into my eyes that way--just that
way."

"Are you happy--very, very happy, Philip?" she asked, lingering on the
words.

"Perfectly happy, Guida," he answered; and in truth he seemed so, his
eyes were so bright, his face so eloquent, his bearing so buoyant.

"And you think we have done quite right, Philip?" she urged.

"Of course, of course we have. We are honourably disposing of our own
fates. We love each other, we are married as surely as others are
married. Where is the wrong? We have told no one, simply because for a
couple of months it is best not to do so. The parson wouldn't have
married us if there'd been anything wrong."

"Oh, it isn't what the clergyman might think that I mean; it's what we
ourselves think down, down deep in our hearts. If you, Philip--if you
say it is all right, I will believe that it is right, for you would never
want your wife to have one single wrong thing like a dark spot on her
life with you--would you? If it is all right to you, it must be all
right for me, don't you see?"