Clive laughed. “Welcome!” he said, ushering them inside. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have met you at the station and guided you to the house. You weren’t afraid of breaking your neck?” And then, as Rose-Ann emerged from her snowy cloak, he took her hand. “So this is Rose-Ann! I’m delighted. You know, Felix isn’t very good at descriptions, and I never got the right idea of you at all.” Felix felt vaguely annoyed. All this was beside the point. “I suppose we _can_ get married here, can’t we?” he asked. Clive looked at him, and then back at Rose-Ann. “How solemn you both are!” he said. “Why, I really believe—Felix, what is this about getting married?” “That’s what we’ve come for,” said Felix patiently. “You mean—” Clive appeared incredulous. “I mean, married. Preacher! License! Ceremony! Didn’t you ever hear of anybody getting married before?” “Not really?” “Yes, really. And right away. Tonight. Is your mind capable of taking all that in, or must I spell it out for you. You seem dazed.” This was not exactly the reception he had expected for his news. “I’m more than dazed. I’m shocked,” said Clive. He turned again to Rose-Ann. “Tell me—when did this—when did you children decide on this rash deed?” “This afternoon,” said Rose-Ann. “It is rash, isn’t it? Do you really think we shouldn’t?” Felix made an impatient movement. What difference did it make what Clive Bangs thought? “Come in by the fire,” said Clive. “You—you bewilder me, you two.” He put a hand, with some kind of vague paternal gesture, on Rose-Ann’s shoulder. “In here”—and he showed them into a room where a coal fire glowed in an open Franklin stove. He arranged three big chairs. “Sit there.... Bad weather outdoors.” “No,” said Rose-Ann, “it’s beautiful! It’s snowing....” “I’ll get you something warm to drink,” and Clive left them. They sat there a moment, silent. “Do you—do you think—?” Rose-Ann began in a troubled voice. “I think Clive is a little upset,” he said. “Poor devil!” “You don’t—?” She stopped again. “What?” he asked dreamily, reaching out and finding her fingers as they drooped over the arm of the chair. “Nothing,” she said. Presently he looked up, and met her eyes. A look he had never seen before glowed in them, and it was as if she had shown him some secret part of herself always hidden before. That look seemed to reveal to him, as if for the first time, dazzlingly, by the real truth of their love. It was as if everything they had said to each other had been in some way false and evasive. This was the truth—this ultimate surrender, this faith-beyond-reason, this something deeper than pride and joy in her eyes. He was strangely exalted. He thought: “This—_this_—is marriage....” In an instant the revelation had passed. Rose-Ann bent down swiftly to shake out a fold in her skirt—and to hide that revealing look, it seemed. Clive was at the door, coming in with their hot drinks.