“So I am not the strong man that you look up to and tremble before? We shall see.”
“Don’t laugh at me. I mean that instead I have a man who makes me rule myself. You make me feel strong, not weak, and proud, not humble. You make me respect myself so.”
“The democracy of love—freedom, equality, fraternity. Don’t you like it?”
“Madame is served.” It was the servant holding back one of the portières, his face expressionless, his eyes down.
Happiness evades description or analysis. We can only say that it reaches its highest point when a man and a woman, intelligent, appreciative, sympathetic, endowed with youth, health and freedom, are devoting their energies solely and determinedly to verifying each a preconceived idea of the other.
“And what do you think of it by this time?”
Marian asked the question in the pause after a twenty minutes’ canter over a straightaway stretch through the pines.
“Of what?” Howard inquired. “I mean of what phase of it. Of you?”
“Well,—yes, of me—after a week.”