"Anthony, there is nothing in the world that would make me so happy as for you to write home and tell them that I belong to you. I have so hoped you would think of it!"
"Why didn't you tell me to do so, long ago?" he asked reproachfully.
"Now, how could I tell you a thing like that?"
"Why not?" he wondered, densely.
She made an expressive gesture with her little hands, resigning the hopeless task of explanation.
"Never mind. But I shall be so glad! You see, they do not know that I am married at all. I have not dared tell them, because they have such stately, quaint ideas that they would be profoundly offended if you did not write yourself. They would consider it a great slight to me. So I have just waited."
He gazed at her in utter marvel at such patience.
"Never do it again," he requested. "Please remember that you have deigned to wed a poor, dull animal who needs your constant guidance. Even yet, I have failed to grasp the delicate point of your not setting me to work at this weeks ago. But bring the writing things and sit beside me as expert critic; we will attend to this before we sleep."
They did so; and were drawn still closer together by the fulfillment of that act of courtesy and consideration which they unwittingly had neglected so long.
The warm, gay intimacy of their life together sank deeper into the fibre of both, as the days went by. They found a comradeship of minds as well as hearts, never failing in novelty and delight to the man.