"Oh, Nancy, you are beautiful!"
The light of joy flashed from her eyes. What girl is there beneath the all-beholding heavens who does not long to know that the man she loves thinks her beautiful?—Who does not long for him to tell her?
"And what a lovely dress you are wearing."
"I've worn it three times since you came down from Oxford, and you've never once mentioned it."
"I never saw it as I see it now. I never saw as I see you now. Nancy, there's no one like. Bless you, my love, for loving me."
But I must not dwell on that happy hour, much as I would love to. We who are older may laugh at "Love's young dream," and grow cynical about its transitory nature. We may say that lovers live in a fool's paradise, and that the dream of lovers ends in the tragedies of later years. Still, there's nothing sweeter or purer on God's green earth than the love of a clean-minded honest lad for the maid he has chosen from all others. It keeps the world young and hopeful; humanly speaking, it is life's greatest joy, and the man who can throw scorn upon its joys and utter cynical words about its reality has himself lost the pearl of great price. It is he who is to be pitied, and not the lovers. They hear the birds of paradise singing in the bowers of Eden, while he hears only the croaking of the raven.
They got back to realities presently. Bob's new-found joy had led him to the realisation of the future.
"I'm going to speak to your father to-night, Nancy. I know he'll be angry, but that I don't mind a bit."
"No, Bob, you must not speak to him—at least not yet."
"Why?"