"Dear Dimbie," I said, "you are a pet. I appreciate your unselfishness, but——"
"Well, write and ask her before I change my mind. I dare say she'll have the sense to clear off and leave us alone in the evenings."
"But shall you care dreadfully?" I queried.
He laughed.
"Well, not dreadfully. No man hankers after a strange woman in the house, especially when he's already got a dear one like you. But I want you to be happy, Marg." His voice became very tender. "I don't want you to be lonely. I want your days to be a perpetual delight." He crossed the room and stroked the back of my head.
"And so they are," I replied, laying my cheek on his sleeve. "One long delight. Sometimes I wonder why God has given me so much happiness. I don't deserve it any more than anyone else. Peter, all my worries are behind me; in front of me is joy. I seem to have stepped on to a little green island of content, set in the midst of a sun-kissed ocean. The waves lap the shores lovingly; the breezes linger in our hair with a caress. You and I are alone, Dimbie."
And he laid his lips on mine for a moment, and then he left me.