He was swept with a sudden uncontrollable anger, so that he trembled as he stood up.... It was strange that this petty humiliation, and not the thought of losing her for ever, should destroy his self-possession! He was ashamed of himself. He went toward the door.... Once outside, he would go away and go home and never see her again.... She followed him to the door and put her hands on his shoulders; and then they were in one another’s arms. 3 Rose-Ann began to cry. “We’ve spoiled it all,” she said. “How have we spoiled it?” he asked tenderly but troubledly. “You love me....” “I love you.... I think so. Or at least I was terribly lonely for you. But—” “But what?” “This only makes it so much harder. This—_this_ hasn’t changed my mind, Felix.” She sat up on the couch. “I shall never let you leave me now.” “I’m afraid—you’ll have to find some other way of keeping me.” “I shall,” he said defiantly. “I—hope so, Felix.... I wish I could feel that I was really and truly your wife. I don’t—yet.” “Then,” he said slowly, “play at being my wife—for a while. Can you do that?” “I’ve played at it for nearly two years. It was nice enough. I guess I can—a little longer. Do you suppose that is what it will come to?—just playing at being married, Felix?” “No. Never. We’ll find the answer this time.” “How?” “I don’t know. We’ll have to talk everything out....” “We’ve talked so often, Felix!” “Once more!” “Yes ... but not now. Let’s play at being happy first. Shall we go outdoors?” “Yes.” “And have our tea.... Felix, you will love the palm-trees! I’ll put on my prettiest frock—for you.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LXIII. In Play 1 BY an unspoken agreement they postponed their discussion from hour to hour. They were too happy to want to question that happiness. For the moment all was well. They were playing at being married; playing that everything was all right.... And the very fear which lurked in the back of their minds of that impending hour when they must reopen old wounds, heightened the beauty of the present moment. They loitered on “the Palisades,” under palm-trees, in the hot sunshine, and drank in the cold breeze from the ocean—into whose waters, still winter-cold, only the seagulls dared to dive. They walked, under the eaves of that low cliff-wall along the shore, among the few early holiday-makers, and the mothers who had brought their children down to play on the beach. They watched the children feeding the seagulls—throwing their remnants of sandwiches out into the water, for the friendly birds to swoop down and take; and the children would clap their hands and venture down closer to the water’s edge until some icy wave would sweep in and send them scampering barelegged back over the sand—a lovely game of children and birds and waves that one could watch for ever....