“Yes,—but it Isn't true.”
“But just suppose it WAS, Jack! You would have a horse of your own and we'd build the dearest little home and—”
“But it never can be true, blessed,—not out of the Cumberland property—” protested Jack.
“But, Jack! Can't we SUPPOSE? Why, supposing is the best fun in the world. I used to suppose all sorts of things when I was a little girl. Some of them came true, and some of them didn't, but I had just as much fun as if they HAD all come true.”
“Did you ever suppose ME?” asked Jack. He knew she never had,—he wasn't worth it;—but what difference did it make what they talked about!
“Yes,—a thousand times. I always knew, my blessed, that there was somebody like you in the world somewhere,—and when the girls would break out and say ugly things of men,—all men,—I just knew they were not true of everybody. I knew that you would come—and that I should always look for you until I found you! And now tell me! Did you suppose about me, too, you darling Jack?”
“No,—never. There couldn't be any supposing;—there isn't any now. It's just you I love, Ruth,—you,—and I love the 'YOU' in you—That's the best part of you.”
And so they talked on, she close in his arms, their cheeks together; building castles of rose marble and ivory, laying out gardens with vistas ending in summer sunsets; dreaming dreams that lovers only dream.