d is very great and intoxicating to those who are
constantly--either by desire or the force of circumstances--unselfish. A
faint flush swept into Brigit's face under the effect of an experience
so novel. Their twofold consciousness had all the pathos of
self-effacement, and all the thrill of satisfied egoism. Such instants
cannot last, and they are shortest when one's habits of thought are
antagonistic to such luxury. Brigit sighed deeply, and roused herself
with a painful sense that the minute she wilfully cut short had been the
sweetest in her life.

"Pensee," she said, "has been so kind to me. She gave me her room at
Wight House last night. She had the little dressing-room just off it.
Did you notice her dress? She was very anxious that you should like it."

"She seemed all right," said Robert; "and wasn't Reckage splendid?"

Having spoilt their perfect moment, they became as mere mortals, more at
ease in this planet, where complete joy has an unfamiliar mien. Brigit's
actual physical beauty returned. The sunshine stole in at the open
window and lit up her golden hair, which was half hidden by a hat with
white plumes. She looked down at her hand with its new wedding ring, and
was pleasantly aware of Robert's admiration.

"I am so glad," she exclaimed, "that you think my hand is nice. Because
I have given it to you for all time. And if you are ever tired, or
discouraged, or unhappy, or lonely, and you want me, I shall come to
you."

"But you will be with me now always."

"Yes," she answered. "Yes, Robert, always."

They had now reached Almouth House. Her little foot, with its arched
instep, seemed too slight and delicate for the pavement. Robert knew
that her arm rested upon his, because he felt it trembling. They crossed
the threshold together. The doors closed after them.

"And he never once kissed her on the way from church!" exclaimed the
footman.

But the coachman did not think this very peculiar. "I don't hold with
kissing," said he; "to my mind there's nothing in it. Kissing is for
boys and gals--not for men and wives."

Baron Zeuill was unable to join them all at breakfast, but Pensee, and
Reckage, and David Rennes (who had been especially invited the night
before because he had proved so entertaining), did more than their duty
as friends by talking feverishly, eating immoderately, and affecting the
conventional joyousness universally thought proper at such times. Pensee
ventured to make a referenc