Lawrence Gerald looked intently and curiously at his young wife. If she had been a stranger to him, he would have been captivated by her. "Annette," he said, "I don't feel so well acquainted with you as I thought I was."
"It will take us a good many years to become well acquainted with each other," she answered quietly. "Now let's take a seat at the other side of the deck, and look for the three magi. Good-night, Crichton!"
She leaned over the rail, and looked back for one moment at the city. Whatever thoughts may have surged up, whatever fears, hopes, or regrets, they found no utterance. No one saw the look in her eyes. Then she took her husband's arm, and crossed the deck.
"There come the Pleiades, like a little cluster of golden grapes, and there is Aldebaran; and now, Orion, buckle on your belt, and come forth."
"By the way," said Lawrence, struck by a sudden thought, "you are Mrs. Gerald; did you know it?"
"Are you sorry for it?" she asked, and tried to make the question sound playful, but with ill success.
"I am rather astonished," he replied; and seemed really to find the thought a new one.
Annette could not restrain a momentary outburst, though she blushed with mortification for it as soon as the words were spoken. "O Lawrence! cannot you speak one word of kindness to me?" As though that could be kindness which waits till asked for.
He took the appeal jestingly. "You shall dictate. Only tell me what you would be pleased to have me say, and I will repeat it, like an obedient husband."
Then, seeing her blush, and that she shrank from him with a look that was almost aversion, he spoke seriously.