"Will it?" She held out her hand prettily and he kissed it.
"It's going to last forever," he said stoutly.
"But we don't care if it doesn't.... Do you know, I think that is what makes it beautiful—" She glanced at the leafy walls of the pergola. "We know it will not be like this always—and so we just—love it!"
He stared a little. "You are not the least bit what I thought you were!" he said helplessly.
"Don't you like me!" Her eyes demanded it.
"I—adore you!" he said softly. "But all these ideas about not lasting— Good Lord!—Here's the tea!" He sprang up and took it from the man and set it out for her. And they drank it—with the light coming in through the crossing vines and checkering the table, and falling on her hair and gleaming delicately at him in little glints like stars—all through it.