Their voices rang out together until they reached the line, "And so she has in mine." As Alice sang these words she opened her eyes and looked upward. A smile of supreme joy spread over and irradiated her face. Her voice faltered; she stopped, then she caught at the piano with her right hand. She tottered and would have fallen if Quincy had not sprung up and taken her in his arms. "Is it true, Alice?" cried he; "is it so? Can you truly say, 'And so she has in mine?'" And Alice looked up at him with that glorious smile still upon her face and softly whispered, "'And so she has in mine,' Quincy." Quincy led her to the lounge by the window, through which the cool evening breeze was blowing, and they sat down side by side. It has been truly said that the conversations of lovers are more appreciated by themselves than by anybody else, and it is equally true that at the most tender moment, in such conversations, intensely disagreeable interruptions are likely to occur. Sometimes it is the well-meaning but unthinking father; again it is the solicitous but inquisitive mother; but more often it is the unregenerate and disrespectful young brother or sister. In this case it was Miss Rosa Very, who burst into the room, bright and rosy, after her trip upon the water. As she entered she cried out, "Oh! you don't know what you missed. I had a most delightful--" She stopped short, the truth flashed upon her that there were other delightful ways of passing the time than in a sailboat. She was in a dilemma. Quincy solved the problem. He simply said, "Good-by, Alice, for one short week." He turned, expecting to see Miss Very, but she had vanished. He clasped Alice in his arms, and kissed her, for the first time, then he led her to her easy-chair and left her there. As he quitted the room and closed the door he met Miss Rosa Very in the entry. "I did not know," said she, "but I am so glad to know it. She is the sweetest, purest, loveliest woman I have ever known, and your love is what she needed to complete her happiness. She will be a saint now. I will take good care of her, Mr. Sawyer, until you come again, for I love her, too." Quincy pressed her hand warmly, and the next moment was in the little street. He was a rich man, as the world judges riches, but to him his greatest treasure was Alice's first kiss, still warm upon his lips. CHAPTER XXXVI. THEN THEY WERE MARRIED. When he bade Alice good-by for a week, Quincy was keeping a promise he had made to his father. The second evening before he had spent with his family at Nahant, and while he was smoking an after-dinner cigar upon the veranda, the Hon. Nathaniel had joined him. "Quincy," said the latter, "I must ask you when you intend to resume your professional duties. You are now restored to health, and it is my desire that you do so at once."