"Yes. I haven't a thing. I'm in perfect rags. And besides, a bride ought to begin new. Isn't it thrilling to be talking of such things! Am I blushing as red as I feel?"
"You're like a rose on fire."
"I feel deliciously a ninny. Can you get away from your hateful army for a good long honeymoon, do you suppose?"
"I don't know. Where would you like to go?"
"The Riviera isn't bad. A trip around the world would be pleasant."
"Wouldn't it!" he groaned. "But I'm afraid I couldn't."
"I suppose the country would be afraid to let you get so far away, with all this talk about trouble with the Mexicans. Oh, well, it doesn't matter so long as we are together, does it?"
"Do you feel that way?" he asked, hungrily.
"Terribly. I love you—I love you hideously much. Watch out! Will you never learn that somebody's always looking?—a whole picnic this time."
They were nearing Pocantico Lake. In a thicket on its shores a wagon-load of villagers had finished its basket-lunch and scattered in a rather dreary effort at inexpensive happiness.