The Past, the Present, the Future rushed over you in tumult. Your lips could hardly crowd so big a vow into so small a word. "Oh, YES, YES, YES!" you cried.
In reverent mastery you raised her face to yours. "A Man must make his own Happy-Day," you repeated. "A Man must make his own Happy-Day!"
Timorously, yet assentingly, she came back to your arms. The whisper of her lips against your ear was like the flutter of a rose petal.
"It will be Wednesday, then," she said, "for us and—ours."
Clanging a strident bell across the magic stillness of the garden, Sam bore down upon you like a steam-engine out of tune.
"Oh, I say," he shouted, "for heaven's sake cut it out and come to supper."
The startled impulse of your refusal faded before the mute appeal in Ladykin's eyes.
"All right," you answered; "but first I must go and cable 'love' to my Father."
"Oh, hurry!" cried Ladykin. Her word was crumpled and shy as a kiss.
"Oh, hurry!" cried Sam. His thought was straight and frank as a knife and fork.