"In spite of what you believed I had done to Garvin, and of what you believed I was capable of doing with Margaret?"
"In spite of everything. Wasn't it dreadful?"
"It was—" There was no superlative strong enough, though he sought for it painfully and with tears. "God help me, sweetheart, I believe I shall go mad with the joy of it." And having said that, speech forsook him, and the silence that is golden came between. After a while she broke it to say:
"Dick is good, isn't he?—to be so long finding his slippers and the cigar."
"Dick is a man and a brother. I wonder if we can persuade him to give me a place on the Myriad."
"You wouldn't take it."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you own an undivided third of a richer mine than the Little Myriad, and—and you are going to marry another third," she said, with sweet audacity.
There was a hassock convenient, and he drew it up to sit at her feet.
"Break it as gently as you can," he entreated. "My cup is too full to hold much more. Besides, I've been in Mexico for the last three months, and nothing happens there."