"Too bad!" said Rose in lively dissent. "It's too heavenly! I've got a whole day just to enjoy being myself;--being"--she reached across to the other bed for his hand, and getting it, stroked her cheek with it--"being my new self. You've no idea how new it is, or how exciting all the little things about it are. State Street's so different now--going and getting the exact thing I want, instead of finding something I can make do, and then faking it up to look as much like the real thing as I could. Portia used to think I faked pretty well. It was the one thing she really admired about me, because she couldn't do it herself at all. But I never was--don't you know?--right. "And then when I was going anywhere, I'd figure out the through routes and where I'd take transfers, and how many blocks I'd have to walk, and what kind of shoes I'd have to wear. And coming home in time for dinner always meant the rush hour, and I'd have to stand. And it simply never occurred to me that everybody else didn't do it that way. Except"--she smiled--"except in Robert Chambers' novels and such." It wasn't necessary to see Rose smile to know she did it. Her voice, broadening out and--dimpling, betrayed the fact. This smile, plainly enough, went rather below the surface, carried a reference to something. But Rodney didn't interrupt. He let her go on and waited to inquire about it later. "So you see," she concluded, "it's quite an adventure just to say--well, that I want the car at a quarter to eleven and to tell Otto exactly where I want him to drive me to. I always feel as if I ought to say that if he'll just stop the car at the corner of Diversey Street, I can walk." He laughed out at that and asked her how long she thought this blissful state of things would last. "Forever," she said. But presently she propped herself up on one elbow and looked over at him rather thoughtfully. "Of course it's none of it new to you," she said--"not the silly little things I've been talking about, nor the things we do together--oh, the dinners, and the dances, and the operas. Do you sort of--wish I'd get tired of it? Is it a dreadful bore to you?" "So long as it doesn't bore you," he said; "so long as you go on--shining the way you do over it, and I am where I can see you shine"--he got out of his bed, sat down on the edge of hers, and took both her hands--"so long as it's like that, you wonder," he said, "well, the dinners and the operas and all that may be piffle, but I shall be blind to the fact." She kissed his hands and told him contentedly that he was a darling. But, after a moment's silence, a little frown puckered her eyebrows and she asked him what he was so solemn about.