mouth the promise, and her bosom which trembles in sweet expectation.
I am in her arms, the arms she has so trustfully opened for me. I am looking into her eyes. Their changing expression shows me her anxiety, her amazement, her thankfulness, her exultation at suddenly understanding life's hitherto undreamt-of wonders.
The room is filled with glorious music. Space seems to open out higher above us, to spread wider around us, and closely embraced, mouth to mouth, we float together away from all earthly trouble and sorrow.
Holy night!
IXMarie was mine! But I was not hers, or thought I was not. Neither did she think me hers. She had no faith in my love, but I knew what she did believe. She told me often, and I never denied it, for she used to look so charming as she said it. Jealous to her finger-tips, and yet so full of common-sense, so willing to 'understand.' She actually believed I had ten mistresses a day—no less! Dear innocent little girl, what wonderful ideas you must have of the strength of man. Surely you cannot have learned your multiplication table. Your imagination runs away with you; and on that point Marie was as innocent as the rest. She came to me at least six days out of the seven, and never once did she find my love asleep. All the same she assured me with the
