Tears brightened in Miriam’s eyes. “Oh, Lem,” she cried, holding out her hands. “How can people talk of servants who have loved—as we have loved?”
Eveley immediately went into a deep and concentrated study of the rear tires, for Miriam was close in her husband’s arms, and his tears were falling upon her fragrant curls.
After a while, he held her away from him and looked into her tender face.
“It isn’t—you aren’t coming, then, just because it is your duty to give me every chance,” he whispered.
“Oh, no, dear, just because I love you.”
Eveley was still utterly immersed in the condition of the tires.
“We’ll try it again, Lem—”
“Oh, Miriam,” he broke in, “it isn’t any trial this time. This is marriage.”
Eventually they got started toward home and had driven many miles before Miriam noticed that her uncovered hair was blowing in the wind, and remembered that she had left the ranch without notice and that all her things were there. But what were simple things and formal notices when human hearts were finding happiness and faith?
In the Cloud Cote, Eve’s friends were patiently awaiting her return. Nolan was reading poetry aloud to himself in the roof garden, and Lieutenant Ames was laboriously picking chords on the piano, with Marie near him strumming on the mandolin.