They scrambled into the cab and were driven off. They leant back against the cushions and looked at each other.
"Well, we're married, Eleanor. I always said we would be," John said.
"It's frightfully funny," Eleanor replied. "Isn't it?"
He did not answer. He took her in his arms instead.
* * * * *
THE THIRD BOOK OF THE FOOLISH LOVERS
Ask, is Love divine,
Voices all are, ay.
Question for the sign,
There's a common sigh.
Would we through our years,
Love forego,
Quit of scars and tears?
Ah, but no, no, no!
MEREDITH.
THE FIRST CHAPTER
I
The honeymoon at Ballyards had been a triumph for Eleanor. Uncle William had immediately surrendered to her, making, indeed, no pretence to resist her. She had demanded his company on a boating excursion on the Lough, and when he had turned to her, sitting behind him in the bow of the boat, and had said, "This is great health! It's the first time I've been in a boat these years and years!" she had retorted indignantly, "The first time! But why?"