"Really," he said, and he kissed her again.
Now they could talk—he had so much to say. With her acceptance of his pledge, her smiling "Really," and his reply, he became normal again. His thoughts descended from their eminence and came back to their matter-of-fact, everyday plane.
"Tell me," he said, with a lover's vanity, "when did you first know that I loved you?"
"I don't know ..." she said. "Perhaps to-night."
"Only to-night!" he echoed, disappointed. "Oh, I have loved you long before this. I think it began when we went to the forest together that day with the children.... I shall be able to help you with your work," he cried, buoyantly, "or will you drop it now?"
She laughed merrily. "How you hurry things on!" she said. "Give me time to think, like a good boy. We're not going to be married to-morrow, are we?"
"No ... no," he protested, "I didn't mean that. Let's have a really long, lovely engagement. Give me months in which I can do all sorts of things for you; we'll see things together that I've never seen before—museums and picture-galleries. Do you know, there's hundreds of things in London I've never seen."
"Why not?"
"I put off the seeing until I go there with my love."
The consummate joy of the hour infected him. He walked up and down the room promising great things ... vanity and egotism tinged his talk.