"Uncle was a dear," Eve agreed, "but suppose he hadn't asked you, Aunt Maude?"
"I should have remained single to the end of my days."
"Oh, no, you wouldn't, Aunt Maude. You would have married the wrong man—that's the way it always ends—if women didn't marry the wrong men half the world would be old maids."
Philip Meade was much in love. He had money, family, good looks and infinite patience. Some day he meant to marry Eve. But he was aware that she was not yet in love with him.
She came down gowned for the street. And thus kept him waiting. "It was Aunt Maude's fault. She made me dress. Pip, where shall we walk?"
He did not care. He cared only to be with her. He told her so, and she smiled up at him wistfully. "You're such a dear—I wish——"
She stopped.
"What do you wish?" he asked eagerly.
"For the—sun. You are the moon. May I call you my moon-man, Pip?"
He knew what she meant "Yes. But you must remember that some day I shall not be content to take second place—I shall fight for the head of your line of lovers."