drew her to me; for a breath she held back, then leaned forward, threw her arms round my neck, and our lips met.
I was drunken with triumphant joy. I kissed her lips again and again; I kissed away her tears, and then I lifted her out of the chair, sat down in it, and took her on my knee, murmuring endearments and reproaches. It was a while before we were really in our senses and coherent. Then I learned that she had been lodging at Chislehurst, trying to soothe herself with long walks into the country at her gates; and I gathered that she had been in no better case than myself, in worse, indeed; for on the edge of the country she had been defenceless to the spring, and the spring is no time for lovers to be parted.
She ended by saying mournfully, but her regret did not ring very sincere, "And I had to come back—I had to—and I shall always be ashamed of myself—always."
"What we want, and what well get to-morrow is a special license," I said firmly.
"A special license—what for?"
"To get married in the afternoon."
"To-morrow—oh, no!" she cried. "That would be too soon! I am not ready! I should have to get things!"
The library clock struck two.
"You mean you'll be married to-day," I said; and I hugged her and laughed joyfully.
