were comfortably seated inside, taking a gardenia from the flower-holder,
"is a posy I've got for you."

"Thank you. Have you anything else?" he asked, folding his hand over hers
as she pinned it on.

"Oh, Austin, you're such a funny lover!"

"Why?"

"Because you nearly always--ask beforehand. Why don't you take what
you've a perfect right to--if you want it?"

"Possibly because I don't feel I have a perfect right to--or sure that I
have any right at all," he answered gravely, "and I can't believe it's
really real yet, anyway. You see, I only had two days with you--the new
way--before you left, and I had no means of knowing when I should have
any more--and a good deal of doubt as to whether I deserved any."

There was no reproach in the words at all, but so much genuine
humility and patience that Sylvia realized more keenly than ever how
selfish she had been.

"You'll make me cry if you talk to me like that!" she said quickly. "Oh,
Austin, I've countless things to say to you, but first of all I want to
tell you that I'll never leave you like this again, that it's--just as
real as _I am_, that you can have just as many days as you care to now,
and that I'll spend them all showing you how much right you have!" And
she threw her arms around his neck and drew his face down to hers,
oblivious alike of Andre on the front seat and all the passing crowds on