ugh. Neither of the
partners in poesy had the least idea of anything more than being just
that. They liked each other, they had come to call each other by their
Christian names, and on Albert's bureau Madeline's photograph now stood
openly and without apology. Albert had convinced himself there was
nothing to apologize for. She was his friend, that was all. He liked to
write and she liked to help him--er--well, just as Helen used to when
she was at home. He did not think of Helen quite as often as formerly,
nor were his letters to her as frequent or as long.

So the summer passed and late August came, the last Saturday afternoon
of that month. Albert and Madeline were together, walking together along
the beach from the knoll where they had met so often. It was six o'clock
and the beach was deserted. There was little wind, the tiny waves were
lapping and plashing along the shore, and the rosy light of the sinking
sun lay warm upon the water and the sand. They were thinking and
speaking of the summer which was so near its end.

"It has been a wonderful summer, hasn't it?" said Albert.

"Yes, wonderful," agreed Madeline.

"Yes, I--I--by George, I never believed a summer could be so wonderful."

"Nor I."

Silence. Then Albert, looking at her, saw her eyes looking into his and
saw in them--

He kissed her.

That morning Albert Speranza had arisen as usual, a casual, careless,
perfectly human young fellow. He went to bed that night a superman, an
archangel, a demi-god, with his head in the clouds and the earth a cloth
of gold beneath his feet. Life was a pathway through Paradise arched
with rainbows.

He and Madeline Fosdick loved each other madly, devotedly. They were
engaged to be married. They had plighted troth. They were to be each
other's, and no one else's, for ever--and ever--and ever.

CHAPTER X

The remainder of that summer was a paradisical meandering over the cloth
of gold beneath the rainbows. Albert and his Madeline met often, very
often. Few poems were written at these meetings. Why trouble to put
penciled lines on paper when the entire universe was a poem especially
composed for your benefit? The lovers sat upon the knoll amid the
sand dunes and gazed at the bay and talked of themselves separately,
individually, and, more especially, collectively. They strolled through
the same woody lanes and discussed the same satisfactory subjects. They
met at the post office or at the drug store and gaz