"Greg--" Tears came to her eyes. "You don't know how much!" she said in a whisper.
They sat down on a great log, washed silver white with long years of riding unguided through the seas, and all the wonderful world of blue sky and white sand might have been made for them. Rachael's hand lay in her lover's, her glorious eyes rarely left his face. Browned by his summer of travel, she found him better than ever to look upon; hungry after these waiting months, every tone of his voice held for her a separate delight.
"Did you ever dream of happiness like this, Rachael?"
"Never--never in my wildest flights. Not even in the past few months!"
"What--didn't trust me?"
"No, not that. But I've been rebuilding, body and soul. I didn't think of the future or the past. It was all present."
"With me," he said, "it was all future. I've been counting the days. I've not done that since I was at school! Rachael, do you remember our talk the night after the Berry Stokes' dinner?"
"Do I remember it?"
"Ah, my dear, if anyone had said that night that in six months we would be sitting here, and that you would have promised yourself to me! You don't know what my wife is going to mean to me, my dearest. I can't believe it yet!"
"It is going to mean everything in life to me," she said seriously. "I mean to be the best wife a man ever had. If loving counts--"