them with melodious good wishes upon their way. And always high over all against the translucent blue hung the white shape of Monte Rosa, that warmed in colour as the evening came. Marjorie's head was swimming with happiness and beauty, and with every fresh delight she recurred again to the crowning marvel of this clean-limbed man beside her, who smiled and carried all her luggage in a huge rucksack that did not seem to exist for him, and watched her and caressed her--and was hers, _hers!_ At Baveno there were letters. They sat at a little table outside a café and read them, suddenly mindful of England again. Incipient forgiveness showed through Mrs. Pope's reproaches, and there was also a simple, tender love-letter (there is no other word for it) from old Mrs. Trafford to her son. From Baveno they set off up Monte Mottarone--whence one may see the Alps from Visto to Ortler Spitz--trusting to find the inn still open, and if it was closed to get down to Orta somehow before night. Or at the worst sleep upon the mountain side. (Monte Mottarone! Just for a moment taste the sweet Italian name upon your lips.) These were the days before the funicular from Stresa, when one trudged up a rude path through the chestnuts and walnuts. As they ascended the long windings through the woods, they met an old poet and his wife, coming down from sunset and sunrise. There was a word or two about the inn, and they went upon their way. The old man turned ever and again to look at them. "Adorable young people," he said. "Adorable happy young people.... "Did you notice, dear, how she held that dainty little chin of hers?... "Pride is such a good thing, my dear, clear, straight pride like theirs--and they were both so proud!... "Isn't it good, dear, to think that once you and I may have looked like that to some passer-by. I wish I could bless them--sweet, swift young things! I wish, dear, it was possible for old men to bless young people without seeming to set up for saints...." BOOK THE SECOND MARJORIE MARRIED CHAPTER THE FIRST SETTLING DOWN § 1 It was in a boat among reeds upon the lake of Orta that Trafford first became familiarized with the idea that Marjorie was capable of debt. "Oh, I ought to have told you," she began, apropos of nothing. Her explanation was airy; she had let the thing slip out of her mind for a time. But there were various debts to Oxbridge tradespeople. How much? Well, rather a lot. Of course, the tradespeople were rather enticing when first one went up----How much, anyhow? "Oh, about fifty pounds," said Marjorie, after her manner. "Not _more_. I've not kept all the bills; and some haven't come in. You know how slow they are." "These things _will_ happen," said Trafford, though, as a matter of fact, nothing of the sort had happened in his case. "However, you'll be able to pay as soon as you get home, and get them all off your mind."