“Well, her father and myself consider it quite _remarkable_ and we have been _urging_--very _strongly_--her acceptance, though of course” this with a glacé smile, “we realize that we are only her _parents_. And, as Nancy knows, it has always been our dearest wish to have her decide matters affecting her happiness entirely _herself_. But I feel sure that when both of you have talked it _well_ over, we can trust you both to come to a most _reasonable_ decision.” She breathes heavily and moves with her appurtenance to the door, secure as an ostrich in the belief that Oliver thinks her impartial, even affectionate. Her conscientiousness gives her a good deal of applause for leaving the two young people so soon when they have all one evening and another morning to be together--but subconsciously she knows that she has done her best by her recent little speech to make this talking-it-over a walk through a field full of small pestilent burrs, for both Oliver and Nancy. They say _au revoir_ very politely--all four--the door shuts on Mr. Ellicott's meek back. Mrs. Ellicott is not very happy, going downstairs. She knows what has undoubtedly happened the moment the door was shut--and a little twinge of something very like the taste of sour grapes goes through her as she thinks of those two young people so reprehensibly glad at being even for the moment in each other's arms. XV An hour later and still the grand news hasn't been told. In fact very little that Mrs. Ellicott would regard as either sensible or reasonable has happened at all. Though they do not know it the conversation has been oddly like that of two dried desert-travellers who have suddenly come upon water and for quite a while afterwards find it hard to think of anything else. But finally: “Dearest, dearest, what was the grand news?” says Oliver half-drowsily. “We must talk it over, dear, I suppose, I guess, oh, we must--oh, but you're so sweet--” and he relapses again into speechlessness. They are close together, he and she now. Their lips meet--and meet--with a sweet touch--with a long pressure--children being good to each other--cloud mingling with gleaming cloud. “Ollie dear.” Nancy's voice comes from somewhere as far away and still as if she were talking out of a star. “Stop kissing me. I can't think when you kiss me, I can only feel you be close. If you want to hear about that news, that is,” she adds, her lips hardly moving.