Much later they found a little nook under the willows on the levee bank and sat there with the river rippling at their feet, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. They talked a little then. Paul told her again all about Ripley, but she did not mind. "When we're married—" said Paul, and the rest of the sentence did not matter.
"And I'm going to help you," she said. "Because I'm telegraphing now, too. I'll be earning as much—almost as much, as you do. We can live over the depot—"
"We will not!" said Paul. "We'll have a house. I don't know that I'm crazy about my wife working."
"Oh, but I do want to help! A house would be nice. Oh, Paul, with rose-bushes in the yard!"
"And a horse and buggy, so we can go riding Sunday afternoons."
"Besides, if I'm making money—"
"I know. We wouldn't have to wait so long."
She flushed. It was what she meant, but she did not want to think so. "I didn't—I don't—"
"Of course there's mother. And I want to feel that I can support—"
She felt the magic departing.