"What—did he—Georgy mean by—your ship?"
"Why, I promised to take him a cruise in the yacht—if you cared to come, Anthea."
"Yacht!" she repeated, "are you so dreadfully rich?"
"I'm afraid we are," he nodded, "but, at least, it has the advantage of being better than if we were—dreadfully poor, hasn't it?"
Now, in the midst of the garden there was an old sun-dial worn by time, and weather, and it chanced that they came, and leaned there, side by side. And, looking down upon the dial, Bellew saw certain characters graven thereon in the form of a poesy.
"What does it say, here, Anthea?" he asked. But Anthea shook her head:
"That, you must read for yourself!" she said, not looking at him.
So, he took her hand in his, and, with her slender finger, spelled out this motto.
Time, and youthe do flee awaie, Love, Oh! Love then, whiles ye may.
"Anthea!" said he, and again she heard the tremor in his voice, "you have been my wife nearly three quarters of an hour, and all that time I haven't dared to look at you, because if I had, I must have—kissed you, and I meant to wait—until your own good time. But Anthea, you have never yet told me that you—love me—Anthea?"