take my
name--stand all in white by my side--put off your glorious girlhood for
the last time, and go away--to live with me--for ever...." The cool
firm fingers laid hold of his. "Wherever I am, your footfalls will be
about me, your perfume will be in the air, your smile will gladden my
eyes.... Oh, Valerie, my love, my darling, my queen--you've made me a
king...."

Slowly Valerie led the strong rough palms up to her throat.

"If I've made you a king, lad," she breathed, "you mustn't kneel to me."

Getting upon his feet, Anthony pressed his lips to the slight fingers.

Valerie rose also.

"If I've made you a king, lad, you mustn't kiss my hand."

Anthony took her in his arms and looked into her eyes.

"I was wrong," he said, smiling. "You didn't step out of your fairy
tale. You never left it. You've just invited me in."

Valerie put up her mouth.

* * * * *

Nineteen days had slipped by--careless, halcyon days, the matchless
morning of a golden festival.

Jack and Jill were beyond imagination happy.

Lyveden had been prevailed upon to stay in Hampshire, and when he must
visit London, to return the same night. I am not certain that these
days were not the best of all. Valerie saw him off in the morning: the
two had all day to think upon their state; his home-coming at even
delivered a perfect reverie.

The last of these flying visits must be recorded, for it was unlike its
fellows, and, though I cannot answer for Lyveden, Valerie will remember
it always.

There is no doubt at all that Anthony was growing quite accustomed to
the liberal atmosphere of Lincoln's Inn Fields. As he bent his steps
westward, he found the huge square admirable. For comfortable dignity,
no other square he could remember compared with it. This, he decided,
was because its sides were not too high for its area. London, as a
whole, had grown up. Had she grown outward instead, perhaps... He
remembered suddenly that she had grown outward as well--out of all
conscience, since Pepys had taken pleasure in Lincoln's Inn Fields.
With a contented sigh Lyveden reflected that by nine-thirty that
evening he would be back at Bell Hammer. The sweet smell of the
country, the song of the wind in tree-tops--above all, the abundance of
cool soft air, seemed to have become essential to his life. For the
present, at any rate, he had no use for Town. It choked him. He was
glad, however, that his solicitor's