"Liebchen, I see two people who are growing old. See?--right down here. One of them must be sixty now, and one about seventy, but they're smiling just as they did when they were young. And they're whispering that they love each other a great deal better now than they did in those days of long ago; that it has grown and grown until it is a bigger thing than the love of youth ever dreamed of." "That _is_ nice," she murmured happily. "That would be a nice picture to paint." They were silent for a time, perhaps both seeing pictures of their own. "It's growing late," said Ernestine, a little drowsily, "but then, I'll never have this birthday again." "And it was happy?" he asked tenderly. "Just as happy as you wanted it to be?" "So happy that I hate to see it go. It was--just right." "Weren't any of the others happy, dear?"--he was stroking her hair, thinking that it too had caught little touches of the fire-light. "None of the others were perfect. Of course, last year was our first one together, and"--a shudder ran through her. "I know, dear," he hastened; "I know that wasn't a perfect day." "Before that," she went on, after a minute of looking a long way into the fire, "something always happened. My birthday seemed ill-fated. That was why I wanted a happy one so much--to make up for all the others. This day began right by the work going so splendidly. Is there anything much more satisfying than the feeling which comes at the close of a good day's work? It puts you on such good terms with yourself, convinces you that you have a perfect right to be alive. Then this afternoon I read some things which I had read long ago and didn't understand then as I do now. You see, there was a great deal I didn't know before I loved you, Karl; and books are just human enough to want to be met half way." "Like men," he commented, meeting her then a trifle more than half way. "Yes, they have to be petted and fussed over, just like men. Now, Karl, are you listening or are you not?" He assured her that he was listening. "Then, this afternoon, Georgia came out and we went for a row on the lagoon in Jackson Park. Did you happen to look out and see how beautiful it was this afternoon, Karl? I wish you would do that once in a while. Germs and cells and things aren't so very aesthetic, you know, and I don't like to have you miss things. I was thinking about you as we passed the university. It seemed such a big, wonderful place, and I love to think of what it is your work really means. I _am_ so proud of you, Karl!" "And was it nice down there?" he asked, just to bring her back to her story of the day. "So beautiful! You and I must go often now that the spring evenings have come. There is one place where you come out from a bridge, and can see the German building, left from the World's Fair, across a great sweep of lights and shadows. People who want to go to Europe and can't, should go down there and look at that. It's so old-worldish.