A bright, bewitching face peeped down at him from above—a face as sweet as a rose—with coral lips, and softly-tinted cheeks, and eyes as brightly-blue as violets.
Directly she came fluttering down the stairs, and paused, with her slender, white-gloved hand upon his arm.
"I am ready," she said. "Come, Lawrence, let us go. It is too lovely a day to remain indoors."
"Darling, how lovely you are," he cried. "Let me kiss you once before we start."
She smiled, and linked her arm fondly in his as they went down the marble steps together.
"Lawrence," she said, half-gravely, half-fondly, "I almost begin to believe in my happiness now. At first it seemed such a precious thing, and I held it by so frail a grasp that I feared I might lose you again and fall back into the terrible gulf of despair. But now months have elapsed and nothing has happened to part us, so that it seems possible for me to breathe freely and look forward to a happy future with you."
"Darling, these trembling fears of yours have always seemed strange and unnecessary to me. What could happen to part us now?" he said, as he handed her into the lovely little phaeton, with its prancing gray ponies, and sprang in beside her.
"I do not know. Nothing, I hope," she answered, with a quick little sigh, as she took the reins into her hands and touched up the spirited ponies. "Where shall we drive, Lawrence—in the park?"
"Yes, if you like," he answered, leaning back luxuriously.
It was a beautiful day in May, the air so balmy and delicious that it was a luxury to breathe it.