gotten," cried Stanley Burnell. "I've
thought of nothing else all day. I've had the hell of a day. I made up
my mind to dash out and telegraph, and then I thought the wire mightn't
reach you before I did. I've been in tortures, Linda."

"But, Stanley," said Linda, "what must I forgive you for?"

"Linda!"--Stanley was very hurt--"didn't you realize--you must have
realized--I went away without saying good-bye to you this morning? I
can't imagine how I can have done such a thing. My confounded temper, of
course. But--well"--and he sighed and took her in his arms again--"I've
suffered for it enough to-day."

"What's that you've got in your hand?" asked Linda. "New gloves? Let me
see."

"Oh, just a cheap pair of wash-leather ones," said Stanley humbly. "I
noticed Bell was wearing some in the coach this morning, so, as I
was passing the shop, I dashed in and got myself a pair. What are you
smiling at? You don't think it was wrong of me, do you?"

"On the con-trary, darling," said Linda, "I think it was most sensible."

She pulled one of the large, pale gloves on her own fingers and looked
at her hand, turning it this way and that. She was still smiling.

Stanley wanted to say, "I was thinking of you the whole time I bought
them." It was true, but for some reason he couldn't say it. "Let's go
in," said he.

Chapter 1.XII.

Why does one feel so different at night? Why is it so exciting to be
awake when everybody else is asleep? Late--it is very late! And yet
every moment you feel more and more wakeful, as though you were slowly,
almost with every breath, waking up into a new, wonderful, far more
thrilling and exciting world than the daylight one. And what is this
queer sensation that you're a conspirator? Lightly, stealthily you move
about your room. You take something off the dressing-table and put it
down again without a sound. And everything, even the bed-post, knows
you, responds, shares your secret...

You're not very fond of your room by day. You never think about it.
You're in and out, the door opens and slams, the cupboard creaks. You
sit down on the side of your bed, change your shoes and dash out again.
A dive down to the glass, two pins in your hair, powder your nose and
off again. But now--it's suddenly dear to you. It's a darling little
funny room. It's yours. Oh, what a joy it is to own things! Mine--my
own!

"My very own for ever?"

"Yes." Their lips met.

No, of course, that had nothing to do