[_Pointing to an imperceptible stain on his plum-colored waistcoat._] A mere scratch! LYDIA. [_Softly._] Dear Richard--will you not think me foolish if---- RICHARD. [_Taking her face between his hands._] If what, Pet? Is it being my wife makes you so afraid of me? Indeed I’ve never noticed such behavior before! LYDIA. Don’t laugh, dear Richard! I know I was never very religious! It is so good to be alive! [_With a little shiver._] Alive----! Alive----! Religion is just for poor sick dead people, but---- RICHARD. What, Lydia? LYDIA. Well, on Sunday, would you send a messenger to the Rev. Mr. Heathcote and have him offer that--that thanksgiving in the prayer-book about a safe return? [_With a desperate little sob._] Oh, Richard, I--I couldn’t bear to have been hurt in the runaway--Not to be here, alive and happy, in Bird’s Nest---- [_She stops, panting, and he gathers her into safe, protecting arms._ RICHARD. But we are in Bird’s Nest, my dearest! We are! We are! LYDIA. [_Looking up from his breast in frightened appeal._] Of course we are! But I’m glad to have you tell me so! You see, Richard, long before I was a married woman--one afternoon last spring it was--an old gipsy woman came to our house one day, and she read my palm--Mamma was out--or she never would have permitted it!--And she told me---- RICHARD. What did she tell you? LYDIA. She said--“It will end where it began!” RICHARD. [_With a laugh, though his eyes are troubled._] Was she referring to my Greek? That ended where it began! LYDIA. [_Seriously, as they pass through the open door into the little parlor._] Mamma thought it meant my marriage! She consulted the Vicar, but he was too highly educated to believe in such “nonsense,” he called it! And I was always so happy--in spite of sister Eliza’s being so much prettier than me--don’t you think so, Richard? RICHARD. [_Indignantly._] Eliza! Flibbertigibbets! Why, you’re the prettiest girl in the world! [_Turning her to the tall mirror at the side of the room._] There! See for yourself----! LYDIA. [_Smiling._] How on earth can you think so? [_Then she goes close and examines the cut for herself._] Lucky my hair curls, isn’t it? This horrid little mark will never show. Now poor sister Eliza--of course she is much prettier than me, Richard--but her hair’s straight as a poker, and do you know, whenever she tries to have curls, she invariably burns it!