“It is all so exquisite, Randolph—so perfect. You did not tell me half.”
“You like it, my Monica?”
“Like it! It seems as if you and I were just alone in the world together.” He bent his head and touched her brow with his lips.
“And that contents you, Monica?”
She looked up with eloquent eyes.
“Need you ask that question now?”
His smile expressed an unspeakable happiness; he put his arm about her saying softly:
“There are some questions one never tires of hearing answered, sweet wife. Ah, Monica! when I think of the past, I feel as if it were almost necessary to have lived through that, to know what such happiness as ours can be. It is the former doubt that makes the present certainty so unutterably sweet. Do you ever feel that yourself, my darling?”
He spoke gravely and gently, as they stood together in the golden sunshine. She looked up into his face with deep love and reverence, yet he felt her slight form quiver in his clasp. He looked at her smilingly.
“What is it, Monica?”