Only half the man’s consciousness allowed itself to be drenched with the beauty of the night. The other half remained alert to a voice, to a summons, to something more rare and exquisite than the silver air and murmuring sea and the shine of all the stars. A few minutes before, languorous by his side, she had been part and parcel of it all. The retreating ripple of wave had melted into the softness of her voice. Her laughing eyes had gleamed importance in the stellar system. The sweet throb of her body, as she had reclined, his arm about her, was rhythmic with the pulsation of the night. And now she had gone; gone just for a few moments; gone just for a few moments until she would divinely break the silence by the little staccato cry of his name; but, nevertheless, her transitory severance had robbed this outer world of half its beauty. He had consciously to incorporate her in order to give meaning to this wonder of amethyst and aquamarine and onyx and diamond and pearl and velvet and the infinite message of the immensities coming through the friendly silence of the moon. * * * * * They had been married all of a sudden, both caught up on the wings of adventure. They were young, free as air. Why should they wait? They kept it secret, a pair of romantics. Only Blaise Olifant, summoned from Medlow, and Janet Philimore were admitted into the conspiracy, and attended the wedding. At first Olivia had twinges of conscience. As a well-conducted young woman she ought to ask her old friend, Mr. Trivett, to stand _in loco parentis_ and give her away. But then there would be Mrs. Trivett and the girls to reckon with. Mr. Fenmarch, left out, might take offence. The news, too, would run through every Medlow parlour. Old John Freke, in his weekly letter to Lydia, would be sure to allude to the matter; and it was Lydia and the galley that she most desired to keep in ignorance. So they were married, by special licence, at the church in Ashley Place, one quiet, sunny morning, in the presence of Myra and the two witnesses they had convened. As they emerged into the sunshine after the ceremony, Olifant said to her: “I’ve never been so reluctant to give anything away in my life.” She asked a laughing “Why?” “Dog in the manger, I suppose.” He smiled whimsically. “I shall feel more of a bachelor than ever when I get back.” “You needn’t, unless you like.” She motioned slightly with her head towards Janet, talking to Alexis, a few feet away. “I’ve not been too busy to think of matchmaking. She’s the dearest of girls.” “But not my landlady.” Her happy laughter rippled forth, calling the others near. “He wants a law forbidding the marriage of landladies. But think of the advantage. Now you can have your landlady to stay with you—in strict propriety—if you will ask us.” “We settled that with Alexis last night,” said he.