conscious of how she was dressed. There was always too much to occupy
him in her brown eyes, in her mouth, which, while losing nothing of
its firmness, had acquired a new gentleness. He had always thought of
her lips as cold, but he knew them better now. At the bend in the road
where he had kissed her first, he kissed her again every morning. She
always protested. That was instinctive. But in the end she submitted,
because it always seemed so many hours since she had seen him last,
and because she made him understand that not until the next day could
he expect this privilege.

"What's the use of being engaged if I can't kiss you as often as I
wish?" he demanded once.

"We're engaged in order to be married," she explained.

"And after we are married--"

"You wait and see," she answered, her cheeks as red as any schoolgirl's.

"But that's three days off," he complained.

Even to her, happy as she was, confident as she was, the interval
to Saturday sometimes seemed like a very long space of time. For
one thing, she felt herself at night in the grip of a kind of
foreboding absolutely foreign to her. Perhaps it was a natural
reaction from the high tension of the day, but at night she sometimes
found herself starting to her elbow in an agony of fear. Before the
day came, something would happen to Don, because such happiness as
this was not meant for her. She fell a victim to all manner of
wild fears and extravagant fancies. On the second night there was a
heavy thunderstorm. She did not mind such things ordinarily. The
majesty of the darting light and the rolling crash of the thunder
always thrilled her. But this evening the sky was blotted out
utterly and quick light shot from every point of the compass at
once. As peal followed peal, the house shook. Even then it was not of
herself she thought. She had no fear except for Don. This might be
the explanation of her foreboding. It happened, too, that his room
was beneath the big chimney where if the house were hit the bolt
would be most apt to strike. Dressing hastily in her wrapper and
bedroom slippers, she stole into the hall. A particularly vicious
flash illuminated the house for a second and then plunged it into
darkness. She crept to Don's very door. There she crouched,
resolved that the same bolt should kill them both. There she remained,
scarcely daring to breathe until the shower passed.

It was a silly thing to do. When she came back to her own room, her
cheek