shouldn't it?" he laughed.

"Will it be just the same when we're married?"

"Eh! Of course."

"Sure?"

"So long as you don't change," he declared.

She laughed scornfully, while he sauntered down to the sea, cigarette
in mouth. Mavis settled herself luxuriously to watch the adored one
through lazy, half-closed eyelids. He had previously thrown away his
straw hat; she saw how the wind wantoned in his light curls. All her
love seemed to well up into her throat. She would have called to him,
but her tongue refused speech; she was sick with love; she wondered if
she would ever recover. As he idled back, her eyes were riveted on his
face.

"What's up with little Mavis?" he asked carelessly, as he reached her
side.

"I love you--I love you--I love you!" she whispered faintly.

He threw himself beside her to exclaim:

"You look done. Is it the heat?"

"Love--love for you," she murmured.

He kissed her neck, first lifting the soft hair behind her ear. Her
head rested helplessly on his shoulder.

"I'll see about luncheon when little Mavis will let me," he remarked.

"Don't fidget: I want to talk."

"I'll listen, provided you only talk about love."

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

"Good!"

"No one's ever loved as we do?" she asked anxiously.

"No one."

"Or ever will?"

"Never."

"Sure?"

"Quite."

"I'm sure too. And nothing's ever--ever going to change it."

"Nothing. What could?"

"I love you. Oh, how I love you!" she whispered, as she nestled closer
to him.

"Don't you believe I love you?" he asked hoarsely.

"Prove it."

"How?"

"By kissing my eyes."

As they sat, her arms stole about him; she wished that they were
stronger, so that she could press him closer to her heart. Presently,
he unpacked the luncheon basket, spread the cloth, and insisted on
making all the preparations for their midday meal. She watched him cut
up the cold chicken, uncork the claret, mix the salad--this last an
elaborate process.

"It's delicious," she remarked, when she tasted his concoction.

"That's all I'm good for, Tommy rotten things of no real use to anyone."

"But it is of use. It's added to the enjoyment of my lunch."

"But there's no money in it: that's what I should have said."

He filled her glass and his with claret. Before either of them drank,
they touched each other's glasses.

"Suggest a toast!" said Mavis.

"Love," replied Perigal.

"Our love," corrected Mavis, as she gave