They broke upon a little laugh that was their utmost expression of the intoxication of this draught of love, just as a man parched with thirst will with a little sigh put down the glass that has touched him back to vigour. Dumb while they drank, their innate earthiness made them dumb before effort to express the spiritual heights to which they had been whirled. In that moment when, spirit mingling with spirit through the medium of what we call love, all our baseness is driven out of us, we are nearest heaven. But our vocabulary being only fitted for the needs about us, we have no words to express the elevation. Debase love and we can speak of it; let it rush upwards to its apotheosis and we must be dumb. With a little laugh they broke. “Going on all right, old girl?” George asked. “Splendidly.” “Happy?” She laughed and said: “I will give the proper answer to that. How can I be other than happy, oh, my love, when daily I see your angel form?” “I forgot that. Yes, you're a lucky girl in that way--very, very lucky. Beware lest you do not sufficiently prize your treasure. Cherish it, tend it, love it.” “Oh, don't fool, George. Whenever we have two minutes together you waste them in playing the goat. Georgie, tell me--about your exam.” “To-morrow.” She was at once serious. “To-morrow?” “To-morrow I thrust my angel form into the examination room. To-morrow my angel voice trills in the examiners' ears.” “I thought you had a paper first, before the viva?” “Do not snap me up, girl. I speak in metaphors. To-morrow my angel hand glides my pen over the paper. On Thursday my angel tongue gives forth my wisdom with the sound of a tinkling cymbal.” “The paper to-morrow, the viva on Thursday?” He bowed his angel head. “George, don't, _don't_ fool. Are you nervous? Will you pass?” “I shall rush, I shall bound. I shall hurtle through like a great boulder.” “_Georgie!_ Will you?” He dropped his banter. “I believe I shall, old girl. I really think I shall. I've simply sweated my life out these weeks--all for you.” She patted his hand. “Dear old George! How I shall think of you! And then?” “Then--why, then, we'll marry! Mary, I shall hear the result immediately after the viva. Then I shall rush back here and tackle old Marrapit at once. If he won't give me the money I think perhaps he'll lend it, and then we'll shoot off to Runnygate and take up that practice and live happily ever after.” With the brave ardour of youth they discussed the delectable picture; arranged the rooms they had never seen; planned the daily life of which they had not the smallest experience.