"No. I have enough clothes now. I was going to begin choosing our furniture--and thought you might be interested. Get in, dear, this is ours," she said, walking up to the limousine which Sally had described with such enthusiasm, and which now stood waiting for her, its door held open by a French chauffeur, who was smiling with true Gallic appreciation of his mistress's "affaire de coeur," "and here," she added, after they were comfortably seated inside, taking a gardenia from the flower-holder, "is a posy I've got for you." "Thank you. Have you anything else?" he asked, folding his hand over hers as she pinned it on. "Oh, Austin, you're such a funny lover!" "Why?" "Because you nearly always--ask beforehand. Why don't you take what you've a perfect right to--if you want it?" "Possibly because I don't feel I have a perfect right to--or sure that I have any right at all," he answered gravely, "and I can't believe it's really real yet, anyway. You see, I only had two days with you--the new way--before you left, and I had no means of knowing when I should have any more--and a good deal of doubt as to whether I deserved any." There was no reproach in the words at all, but so much genuine humility and patience that Sylvia realized more keenly than ever how selfish she had been. "You'll make me cry if you talk to me like that!" she said quickly. "Oh, Austin, I've countless things to say to you, but first of all I want to tell you that I'll never leave you like this again, that it's--just as real as _I am_, that you can have just as many days as you care to now, and that I'll spend them all showing you how much right you have!" And she threw her arms around his neck and drew his face down to hers, oblivious alike of Andre on the front seat and all the passing crowds on Fifth Avenue. "Don't," Austin said after a moment. "We mustn't kiss each other like that when some one might see us--I forgot, for a minute, that there _was_ any one else in the world! Besides, I'm afraid, if we do, I'll let myself go more than I mean to--it's all been stifled inside me so long--and be almost rough, and startle or hurt you. I couldn't bear to have that happen to you--again. I want you always to feel safe and shielded with me." "Safe! I hope I'll be as safe in heaven as I am with you! Don't you think I know what you've been through this last year?" "No, I don't," he said passionately; "I hope not, anyway. And that was before I ever touched you, besides. It's different now. I shan't kiss you again to-day, my dear, except"--raising her hand to his lips--"like this. Are you going to wait for me here?" he ended quietly, as the motor began to slow down in front of the Waldorf. "No," she said, her voice trembling; "I'm going to church, 'to thank God, kneeling, for a good man's love.' Come for me there, when you're ready." "Are you in earnest?" "I never was more so."