That night David told his mother. He had been profoundly shaken by Elizabeth's lovely unexpected motion there in the twilight on the bridge; it was a motion so divinely unconscious of the outside world, that he was moved to the point of finding no words to say how moved he was. But she had felt him tremble from head to foot when her lips burned against his,--so she needed no words. His silence still lasted when, after an hour next door with her, he came home and sat down on the sofa beside his mother. He nuzzled his blond head against hers for a moment; then slipped an arm round her waist. "It's all right, Materna," he said, with a sort of gasp. "What is, dear?" "Oh, mother, the idea of asking! The only thing in the world." "You mean--you and Elizabeth?" "Yes," he said. She was silent for a moment; when she spoke her voice broke a little. "When was it, dear?" "This afternoon," he said. And once started, he overflowed: "I can't get my breath yet, though I've known it since a quarter past four!" Mrs. Richie laughed, and then sighed. "David, of course I'm happy, if you are; but--I hope she's good enough for you, dear." She felt him stiffen against her shoulder. "Good enough? for _me!_ Materna, she is perfect! Don't you suppose I know? I've know her nearly all my life, and I can say she is perfect. She is as perfect as you are; she said you were perfect this afternoon. Yes; I never supposed I could say that any woman was as good, and lovely, and pure, as you--" "David, _please_ don't say such things." David was not listening. "But I can say it of Elizabeth! Oh, what a lucky fellow I am! I always thought Blair would get her. He's such a mighty good fellow,--and so darned good-looking, confound him!" David ruminated affectionately. "And he can talk; he's not bottled up, like me. To think she would look at me, when she could have had him,--or anybody else! It seems kind of mean to cut Blair out, when he isn't here. He hasn't seen her, you know, for about two years." "Perhaps you would like to call it off until he gets home, and give him a chance?" David grinned. "No, thank you. Oh, Materna, she is, you know, really, so--so sort of wonderful! Some time I want to talk to you about her. I don't believe anybody quite understands Elizabeth but me. But to think of her caring for me! To think of my having two such women to care for me." He took her hand gently and kissed it. "Mother," he said--he spoke with almost painful effort; "Mother, I want to tell you something. I want to tell you, because, being what you are, you can't in the least understand what it means; but I do want you to know: I've never kissed any woman but you, Materna, until I kissed--_Her_." "Oh," said Helena Richie, in a stifled voice, "don't, David, don't; I can't bear it! And if she doesn't make you happy--"