“Like a wedding flower girl? Oh, Cicely, you bride of brides! I’d think any day would smile and look pleasant when it came up at dawn to find us together,” Rodney spoke with a little laugh in his voice, but it trembled too. The apartment did not include many rooms, but they were--for apartment rooms--spacious. There were two excellent bedrooms, a small room for the maid, and its accompanying bath at the rear, a small kitchen, a pretty dining room, and a really fine living room, besides a tiled bathroom which was so white, so modern and perfect in its appointments that Cis found herself unexpectedly housewifely every time that she saw it. Mentally she screwed bright nickle fixtures upon the slabs built in for them, and hung heavily initialled towels upon glass rods, as she stood in the doorway, taking in the details of this room devoted to the practice of the virtue which is next to godliness. “I’m going to turn out well, Rory O’Moore!” Cis announced, swinging around to face Rodney, who had come up behind her and placed his hands upon her shoulders. “You always knew I’d be agreeable to have around, but you never dreamed I’d be a real, dyed-in-the-wool domestic character! Neither did I, but I shall be; I feel it coming on! I yearn to scrub this white floor and polish the faucets! The kitchen, with that white sink and draining board, and the cunning cupboard, goes to my head till it fairly spins with rapture! Oh, Rod, it’s the sweetness of doing for you! I’ve been half scared to be married, even to you, but this apartment takes it all out of me! It’s home and home-making; it’s living for, and with, and in each other! Oh, my Rod, I’m not afraid, I’m _not_! I’m glad, _glad_ I’m coming here to be with you, and scrub _your_ rooms, and wash _your_ dishes!” “Holly, my blessed Holly!” Rodney breathed the words almost inaudibly into Cicely’s ear, all that was fine in him moved and awed before her sweetness. Voluntarily Cis threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, and caresses were rare with her, yielded only to his implorations. Rodney understood that she was betrothing herself anew, and he met her spirit in tune with it. Why did he fear to tell her his secret? This rare, deep-hearted Cicely would not fail him for a chimera! The new table awakened little less than rapture in Cis; it was exactly to her mind. The three chairs no less; deep-seated, low, at once “impressive and home chairs,” Cis pronounced them. “Suppose we use them for awhile, Cicely dear,” Rodney proposed. “I’d like to talk to you.” “All right; I’m ready to talk, or to listen,” agreed Cis, dropping into the chair which she had at once pronounced “made for the lady of the house.” “Sounds queer to hear you call me Cicely, Rodney!” she added, laughing at him.