“Isn’t it nice, George?” she said, taking his hands in her own and looking up merrily. “_Our_ little nest. I’ve been exploring it all day, as though I didn’t know everything in it; trying all the chairs, strumming on the piano, tasting everything as it were—and doesn’t it taste sweet? Thank you—thank you—thank you——!” He held her face close to his; the scent of her hair, the warmth of her breath intoxicated him as he kissed her and pressed her close. “You do love me, really love me, George?” He kissed her again. “I do, my dear, I do. You’re a witch. I often thought I should never love any woman really, though I very nearly loved you when you were a little country girl. Then you come along and just wind yourself into my life and make me forget everything except you.” “Everything except me,” she repeated dreamily, “and I forget everything except you. I feel just like Cinderella must have done when she met the prince, only this is all real, real, all real. Now, come along; you’re a man, and—dinner is ready. Come, give me your arm and lead your hostess in.” The dining table was plainly but daintily furnished; pretty flowers, simple china, cheap green German glass, a homely dinner, light Rhine wine, red and white, good coffee, mellow liqueurs. There was nothing to remind him of the garish restaurant life they had been leading, no touch of meretriciousness or hint of sham. When the servant left them, Marian drew her chair close to his, filled his glass and her own. “Have you no toast to propose?” she asked. “Yes, but no wine in the world is good enough to drink it in, dear. You—_you_!” “I’ve a better toast—and it’s the wish, not the wine, that counts—We. We!” “You’re right! We! Though I should be nothing without you. We!” They clinked glasses and drank. “How nice and quiet it is here!” she said. “Just you and I, and all the rest of the world shut out. I wonder——” “What?” “Should we have been as happy if you had quite loved me then?” “We were different then.” “Yes, how different!” said Marian; “I at any rate. I daresay you haven’t changed much. You were grown-up then, but I was merely a child. I don’t know that I am very much more now, am I?” She laughed lightly as she spoke, and glanced at him; then laughed again as she leaned back in her chair and nibbled a _marron glacé_. “A child!” she went on. “Am I anything more than a mere grown-up child? I don’t think I can be much more. I don’t want to really grow up. Just a Cinderella, whom you found sitting among the ashes. I’d never met a prince before, so—I let you carry me off in your fairy hansom. So—they lived happily ever afterward. I wonder, did they?” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her folded hands. “What a way to talk on our first night here! What nonsense!” “It’s nice to talk nonsense sometimes.” “Yes, but only jolly nonsense. I’ll tell you something that will make you laugh. Do you know—I felt quite—nervous coming here to-night.”