"You foolish Janey, get up," and he gave her cheek a friendly tap.
"My own boy," she murmured, "why shouldn't I kneel? You have opened the gates of heaven for me."
After he had left the room she stood at the window, and watched until he reappeared on the broad pavement below.
People were walking, riding, spinning along in motor-cars; gulls hovered above the beach on lazy wings; pebbles, boat gunwales, lamp-posts, every smooth hard surface, flashed in the sunlight; the gentle breeze smelt deliciously fresh and clean;—all was bright and gay and splendid, because so full of pulsing life. But the most splendid thing in sight was her husband. The man out there—that glorious creature, with his hat cocked and his stick twirling as he swaggered across the broad roadway—was her handsome, splendid husband.
The sun shone on her face, and the love shone out of it to meet the genial vivifying rays. "My husband;" and she murmured the words aloud. "My own darling boy. My strong, kind, noble husband."
It was a real marriage.