He was alone with her in Elysium; Adam and Eve were not more secure from human observation when they kissed under the apple tree. He drew nearer to her—her eyes permitted. In a miracle he had clasped a goddess, and he would not have been aware of it if all the pins of Birmingham had been concealed about her toilette to protest.
Presently she said:
"We must go back to mamma!"
He had forgotten that she had one, and the recollection was a descent.
"What will she say?" he asked. "I'm not a millionaire, dearest; I am afraid she won't be pleased."
"I'll tell her when we get home. Oh, mamma likes you!"
"And you have a father?" he added, feeling vaguely that the ideal marriage would be one between orphans, whose surviving relatives were abroad and afraid of a voyage. "Do you think they will give you to me?"
"After I've spoken to them," she said deliciously. "Yes—oh, they will be nice, I am sure, Mr. Kent!... There, then! But one can't shorten it, and it sounds a disagreeable sort of person."
"Not as you said it."
"It was very wrong of you to make me say it so soon. Are you a tyrant?... We must really go back to mamma!"