"Merry—child—I love you!"
Her arm crept about his neck, and then her radiant face came out from its hiding place, and held itself ready for the consecration.
XXXVIII
They lingered in happy disregard of passing time, each seeming to fear disillusionment if they deserted their magic garden. Huntington no longer felt the oppression of the years, Merry no longer drifted from her anchorage.
"Monty," she whispered slyly,—"dare I call you Monty?"
"If you don't, I shall call you incorrigible!"
"Monty,—who is Benten?"
She asked the question so hesitatingly, as if ashamed to admit her ignorance, that he laughed.