Her head was on his shoulder, his cheek pressed to hers. Presently she raised herself, and put her arms round his neck.
"Are you quite—quite happy?" she whispered. The grip of his arms left her breathless as he answered:
"I never believed in heaven—till now." She rubbed her soft face against the rough tweed of his coat.
"I love your coat," she said. "I love all of you."
Feathers turned his face sharply away, and she put up her hand, forcing him to look at her again.
"Do you really love me?" she asked. She had had so little of love in her life, it was hard to believe that at last she was everything in the world to this man.
He answered her with broken words and kisses. She could feel the passionate beating of his heart beneath her cheek, and she looked up at him with shy eyes. "You always will—always!" she insisted.
"Always—always . . . all my life—and after."
He put his lips to hers in a long kiss; he kissed her hands and slender wrists.
"My love—my love," he said brokenly, and could say no more.