"Did you speak?" asked his mother, who had entered the room.
"I repeated the title of a novel I am going to write," he said. "I wanted to hear how it would sound."
"You must live a romance before you can write one, Mark."
"True," he answered dryly. "I need experience. Where is Paula?"
"Oh, Mark!"
He kissed her. "Yes," he said, "I will do what I can to make you happy, and—gain experience."
Mrs. Joe's eyes beamed through her tears.
"She is in the library."
Leaving the room by the window, which opened upon a veranda, he walked toward the library, the windows of which opened upon the same veranda.
The library windows were divided in the centre, like doors. They were open now, and the thick French plate reflected like a mirror. In the open window pane he saw, as in a mirror, a portion of the interior. Paula was there, and Paula's head nestled against the breast of Father Cameril, and the good Father's arm encircled her while his lips pressed hers.