“And what,” queried Katrine the practical, “will you do?”
“Interfere, of course! What d’you expect?” Grizel turned her head toward her fiancé, who had been a delighted listener to the discussion. “And make love to Martin. I shan’t have time for anything else.”
Katrine left the room, head in air, whereupon Martin made haste to take his bride in his arms.
“Happy?” she asked softly, tilting her head so as to look into his face. “Content?”
“Ah, Grizel, not quite... When I have you always... when you are my wife!”
“No qualms at all—no doubt? Because there’s still time... Sure you realise exactly what you are getting? An expensive wife, impracticable and lazy. And I’m twenty-eight. I shan’t change. And not a bit clever, except in one way!”
“What way, Grizel?”
“You know—”
“I want to be told!”
The golden eyes grew dark, the pale face glowed. Ah! Grizel’s lover needed no telling. Not one woman in a thousand could love like this soft, sweet thing, whose outer appearance was so calm and still. She who had contrived to love with tenderness a cantankerous old woman, lavished a very flood of devotion on the man of her choice. His starved nature absorbed it like a thirsty plant, but his delight in her was still fearful, incredulous; the sudden transformation of his life had the perilous radiance of a dream.