"I--I--did not believe it either. . . . But, are you sure? Could you reconcile yourself? You seem so much a part of New York, of this strange high-pitched civilization. If you are not sure--if you are only tired of New York for the moment. . . . I--yes, I will! I'll give it all up and live here. Of course I love New York itself--was it not my Mary Ogden home? And there are delightful people everywhere. . . . No doubt my dream of doing great things in Europe was mere vanity----" "Do you believe that?" "Perhaps not. But, after all, what I tried to do might be so easily frustrated in that cauldron--why should I risk personal happiness--the most precious and the rarest thing in life, for what may be a chimera--wasted years and a wasted life. Why are we made as we are, if to coax that hidden spark into a steady flame is not our highest destiny? It certainly is our manifest right. . . . Dreams of doing great things in this world are nine-tenths personal vanity. I believe that when we leave this planet we go to a higher star, where our incompleteness here will be made complete; and perhaps we are spared a term of probation if we make ourselves as complete here as mortal conditions will permit. And, possibly, once in a great while, two human beings are permitted to effect that completeness together." They were both in an exalted mood. The wood was very still, its beauty incomparable. And they might already have been on another star. Across that divine balsam-scented stillness came the deep imperative notes of a bell. Clavering twitched his shoulders impatiently. "Let them go on their screaming picnic," he said. "We stay here. Did you mean that, Mary?" "Yes, I meant it. We will not go to Europe at all--except to visit my Dolomites some day. When you are writing I'll come up here." "I don't know that I shall ask that sacrifice of you. A part of your brain is asleep now, but it is a very active and insistent part when awake. In time you might revert--and resentment is a fatal canker; but let's leave it open. It is generally a mistake to settle things off-hand. Let them alone and they settle themselves." "Very well. At all events, while we are here, I shall not give it another thought. The present at least is perfect." "Yes, it is perfect!" He put both arms about her. The past was a blank to both. Their pulsing lips met in the wonder and the ecstasy of the first kiss of youth, of profound and perfect and imperishable love. They clung together exalted and exulting and for the moment at least they were one. LI