"We should have to do without the piano, then; but it is hardly possible to live without music. Well, we could go to a church, or, better still, to a cathedral. That could easily be managed, for we could so arrange as to halt for the night near a cathedral town, and if we were a little late starting off the next day, it would not so much matter, our time being our own. Then, it might happen--stranger things happen, my dear, and in discussing a matter it is only fair to look at it from every aspect--it might happen that we hear of a concert to be given in a hall a dozen or twenty miles away. Away trots the horse at six or seven miles an hour--that would not be overworking it--and we arrive in time. I run into the town or city, or perhaps we pass through it, and I take tickets. We dress--properly, you know, Nansie--I in my swallowtail and white tie, you in your prettiest evening-dress, and off we start arm-in-arm. A fine evening, a pleasant walk of a mile, a most beautiful concert which we enjoy, and then the walk home, with stars and moon overhead, and the clouds forming a panorama of exquisite colors in lace-work through the branches of the trees. That is what I call true enjoyment, which, however, only lovers can properly appreciate. Would it not be perfect, Nansie?" "Perfect," replied Nansie, for a moment carried away by his earnestness and eloquence; "a heaven upon earth." "You can form no idea," said Kingsley, with a happy smile, "what delight you give me in agreeing with me upon such subjects. Though I should not say that; it half implies that we might possibly disagree upon our views for the future. When I first saw you I knew you thoroughly. I saw your sweet and beautiful nature in your eyes, and they are the loveliest eyes, my heart, that ever shone kindly upon man. 'Here,' said I to myself--Oh, you have no notion how I thought of you when I was alone! I used to walk up and down my room, speaking to you and listening for your answers; there are silent voices, you know, Nansie--'Here,' said I to myself, 'here is the sweetest and purest spirit that ever was embodied in woman. Here is one whose companionship through life would make earth a heaven'--exactly as you expressed it just now, my love--'and to win whom would be the most precious blessing which could fall to a fellow's lot. I love her, I love her, I love her!'" "Oh, Kingsley!" murmured Nansie, laying her face on her husband's breast. His sincerity and simple earnestness--whatever the worldly practical value of the words he was uttering--carried her away into his land of dreams, and surely they were words so sweet and loving that no woman could listen to them unmoved. "And if it be my happiness to win her," continued Kingsley, "I will prove myself worthy of her."