altogether?"

He said, "You darling!" But he couldn't manage more than that.

A little later he suggested that they could get the place by telegraph
and could set out for it to-morrow.

She laughed and asked, "Will you let me be as silly as I like for once?
Will you give me a week--well, till Saturday; that would do--to get
ready in?"

"Get ready?" he echoed.

"Clothes and thinks," she said. "A--trousseau, don't you see? I've been
so busy making clothes for other people that I've got just about nothing
myself. And I'd like ... But I don't really care, Roddy. I'll go with
you to-morrow, 'as is,' if you want me to."

"No," he said. "We'll do it the other way."

And then he took her back to the gray brick entrance and, just out of
range of the elevator man, kissed her good night.

"But will you telephone to me as soon as you wake up in the morning, so
that I'll know it's true?"

She nodded. Then her eyes went wide and she clung to him.

"_Is_ it true, Roddy? Is it possible for a thing to come back like that?
Are we really the old Rodney and Rose, planning our honeymoon again? It
wasn't quite three years ago. Three years next month. Will it be like
that?"

"Not like that, perhaps," he said, "exactly. It will be better by all
we've learned and suffered since."

CHAPTER V

THE BEGINNING

There was a sense in which this prediction of Rodney's about their
honeymoon was altogether true, They had great hours--hours of an
emotional intensity greater than any they had known during that former
honeymoon, greater by all they had learned and suffered since--hours
that repaid all that suffering, and could not have been captured at any
smaller price. There were hours when the whole of their two selves
literally seemed transfused into one essence; when there was nothing of
either of them that was not the other; when all their thoughts,
impulses, desires, flowered spontaneously out of a common mind. There
was no precalculating these experiences. They came upon them, seized
them, carried them off.

One of these, that neither of them will ever forget, came at the end of
a long tramp through the dawn of their second day. They had been
swinging along in almost unbroken silence through the gray mist, had
mounted a little hillock and halted, hand in hand, as the first lance of
sunlight transfixed and flushed the still vaporous air, and it had
seemed to them, as they watched, breathless, while the sun mounted, that
t