Here, to the farm, accompanied by a maid, she had been in the habit of retiring from time to time, and here she came in early July. Here, dressed in the simplest linen gowns of pink or blue or white, I found a Nancy magically restored to girlhood,--anew Nancy, betraying only traces of the old, a new Nancy in a new Eden. We had all the setting, all the illusion of that perfect ideal of domesticity, love in a cottage. Nancy and I, who all our lives had spurned simplicity, laughed over the joy we found in it: she made a high art of it, of course; we had our simple dinners, which Mrs. Olsen cooked and served in the open air; sometimes on the porch, sometimes under the great butternut tree spreading its shade over what in a more elaborate country-place, would have been called a lawn,--an uneven plot of grass of ridges and hollows that ran down to the orchard. Nancy's eyes would meet mine across the little table, and often our gaze would wander over the pastures below, lucent green in the level evening light, to the darkening woods beyond, gilt-tipped in the setting sun. There were fields of ripening yellow grain, of lusty young corn that grew almost as we watched it: the warm winds of evening were heavy with the acrid odours of fecundity. Fecundity! In that lay the elusive yet insistent charm of that country; and Nancy's, of course, was the transforming touch that made it paradise. It was thus, in the country, I suggested that we should spend the rest of our existence. What was the use of amassing money, when happiness was to be had so simply? “How long do you think you could stand it?” she asked, as she handed me a plate of blackberries. “Forever, with the right woman,” I announced. “How long could the woman stand it?”.... She humoured, smilingly, my crystal-gazing into our future, as though she had not the heart to deprive me of the pleasure. “I simply can't believe in it, Hugh,” she said when I pressed her for an answer. “Why not?” “I suppose it's because I believe in continuity, I haven't the romantic temperament,--I always see the angel with the flaming sword. It isn't that I want to see him.” “But we shall redeem ourselves,” I said. “It won't be curiosity and idleness. We are not just taking this thing, and expecting to give nothing for it in return.” “What can we give that is worth it?” she exclaimed, with one of her revealing flashes. “We won't take it lightly, but seriously,” I told her. “We shall find something to give, and that something will spring naturally out of our love. We'll read together, and think and plan together.” “Oh, Hugh, you are incorrigible,” was all she said.