"Is it you, Mark?"
"Yes. May I come in, Gloria?"
"Please, Mark. It's all so new, so strange … I intended to come right back downstairs, but I'm so tired, Mark. And I want to be alone a little; to think. I haven't had time to think of anything! You don't mind, do you, Mark?"
He answered promptly and heartily, refusing to allow himself to harbour a shadow of disappointment.
"No. No, of course not. You will go right to bed? I know you must be half-dead for sleep."
"Yes." There was a note of eagerness in the voice coming to him from beyond the shut door.
"There was a message from your mother; she has gone to your father and wanted you to meet her there. But we will talk of that later."
"Yes…. Good-night, Mark."
"Aren't you going to kiss me good-night?" he asked, hesitating a little between the words. His new privilege, a lover's, a husband's, was not an hour old; he felt strangely shy as he spoke softly to her.
"Please, Mark! I am terribly tired out, and—and I'm afraid I've mislaid the key, and——"