"And the discovery is made in time. After all, I am a young man, and, as I told you, I intend to commence with a new slate. Really, I intend to try my very best."
"And you will succeed, Kingsley," said Nansie, earnestly. "You are sure to succeed."
"Now that's comforting. It gives a fellow strength. With you always by my side, it will be very hard if I fail. But," and here he took off his hat and passed his fingers through his hair with the characteristic of vagueness in him which sometimes took a humorous and sometimes a pitiful turn, but always perplexed--"succeed or fail in what? That is the all-important question. There is no quarry in sight; it will never do to follow a Will-o'-the-wisp. So much valuable time lost. The very best thing, I take it, for a fellow in my position to do, is to find out his groove and fall into it. Do you consider that a practical idea?"
"Quite practical, my love."
"Yes, to find out the groove and fall into it. Could anything be done with tools?"
His voice was wholly humorous now, and for the life of her Nansie could not help smiling. "And what tools?" He looked at his hands, and stretched out his arms. "Well, all that is in the future. I was going to remark on an observation you made a little while ago. Oh, I remember what it is. 'Change produces beauty.' Now that struck me as serious. How about love?"
"I did not mean that, Kingsley, dear. Love stands apart from everything else. The sweetness and beauty of love is to be found only in perfection when it is constant and unchangeful. To me it is the same as my faith in immortality. My love for you will abide in me forever. Ah, Kingsley, do not misunderstand me, or misinterpret what I said!"
"I do not," he said, folding her in his arms and embracing her; "I could never have loved any other woman than you, I can never love another. So you see, my dear, you are not quite logical. There is one thing in which we should find no beauty in change."
They strolled through the woods, exchanging fond endearments, pausing often in silence to drink in the sweetness and the beauty of the time and scene. They listened to the notes of the nightingale, and recalled the remembrances of the night when Kingsley came to Nansie in the caravan.
"I have the daisies you threw up to my little window," said Nansie. "We listened to the nightingale then."