"Tell 'em to go to thunder! What does Mrs. Maurice Curtis (doesn't that sound pretty fine?) care for a lot of old cats? Don't we _know_ that we are in heaven?" He caught her hand and crushed it against his mouth. "I wish," he said, very low, "I almost wish I could die, now, here! At your feet. It seems as if I couldn't live, I am so--" He stopped. So--what? Words are ridiculously inadequate things!... "Happiness" wasn't the name of that fire in his breast, Happiness? "Why, it's God," he said to himself; "_God._" Aloud, he said, again, "We are married!" She did not speak--she was a creature of alluring silences--she just put her hand in his. Suddenly she began to sing; there was a very noble quality in the serene sweetness of her voice: "O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Through the clear windows of the morning, ten Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!" That last word rose like a flight of wings into the blue air. Her husband looked at her; for a compelling instant his eyes dredged the depths of hers, so that all the joyous, frightened woman in her retreated behind a flutter of laughter. "'O Spring!'" he repeated; "_we_ are Spring, Nelly--you and I.... I'll never forget the first time I heard you sing that; snowing like blazes it was,--do you remember? But I swear I felt this hot grass then in Mrs. Newbolt's parlor, with all those awful bric-a-brac things around! Yes," he said, putting his hand on a little sun-drenched bowlder jutting from the earth beside him; "I felt this sun on my hand! And when you came to 'O Spring!' I saw this sky--" He stopped, pulled three blades of grass and began to braid them into a ring. "Lord!" he said, and his voice was suddenly startled; "what a darned little thing can throw the switches for a man! Because I didn't get by in Math. D and Ec 2, and had to crawl out to Mercer to cram with old Bradley--I met you! Eleanor! Isn't it wonderful? A little thing like that--just falling down in mathematics--changed my whole life?" The wild gayety in his eyes sobered. "I happened to come to Mercer--and, you are my wife." His fingers, holding the little grassy ring, trembled; but the next instant he threw himself back on the grass, and kicked up his heels in a preposterous gesture of ecstasy. Then caught her hand, slipped the braided ring over that plain circle of gold which had been on her finger for fifty-four minutes, kissed it--and the palm of her hand--and said, "You never can escape me! Eleanor, your voice played the deuce with me. I rushed home and read every poem in my volume of Blake. Go on; give us the rest." She smiled; ".... And let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath!..." "Oh--_stop_! I can't bear it," he said, huskily; and, turning on his face, he kissed the grass, earth's "perfumed garment," snow-sprinkled with locust blossoms....