ered a little and wished them both joy, and said
good-night rather markedly early.

"He won't come back," said Rhoda in Peter's ear when he had gone. "He's
gone for good." She sat very still, realising it, and shivered a little.
Then, casting off that old chain of the past, she turned on Peter eyes
full of tears and affection.

"Now I'm going to forget all about him and be happy," she whispered.
"He's not going to be part of my life any more at all. How queer that
seems!"

If in her heart she wished a little that Peter had had Guy Vyvian's
handsome face and person (Peter had no presence: one might overlook him;
the only vivid note about him, except when he smiled, was the blue of his
eyes), she stifled the wish with firm pressure. What were looks, after
all? And that bold, handsome stare of Guy's had burnt and hurt; in the
blue of Peter's she found healing and coolness, as one finds it in a
summer sea.

So, after the third time of asking, they were married, in St. Austin's
Church, and Rhoda, coming out of it, whispered to Peter, "Some of the
beautiful things are true after all, I do believe;" and he smiled at her
and said, "Of course they are."

They left the boarding-house, because Rhoda was tired of the boarders
and wanted a little place to themselves. Peter, who didn't really care,
but who would have rather liked to stay and be with Peggy and Hilary,
pretended that he too wanted a little place to themselves. So they took
lodgings in Greville Street, which runs out of Brook Street. Rhoda gave
up her work and settled down to keep house and do needlework. They kept
a canary in the sitting-room, and a kitten with a blue bow, and Rhoda
took to wearing blue bows in her own hair, and sewed all the buttons on
her frocks and darned her gloves and stockings and Peter's socks, and
devoted herself to household economy, a subject in which her mother had
always tried to interest her without success. Rhoda thought it a great
relief to have escaped from the tiresome boarders who chattered so about
things they knew nothing about, and from her own daily drudgery, that had
tired her back. (She had been a typist.) It was nice to be able to sit at
peace with one's needlework and one's own reflections, and have Peter,
who was always kind and friendly and cheerful, to brighten breakfast and
leave her in peace during the day and come in again to brighten the
evening. Peter's chatter didn't worry her, though she often thought it
childi