She laughed a contented little laugh, throwing her chin up, according to her way. “Do you know, Thornton,” she said with a little hesitation, in which there was much charm, “being called beautiful every day is one of the great novelties of the situation. I always knew I was good to look upon, and sometimes I really was very pleased to behold myself. But before I knew you, dear, it never made anything of a factor in my daily life. And now I almost begin to think it's the only quality I have.” “Given that, you can let all the others go----” He waved his hand vaguely, consigning them to the _Ewigkeit_. “But that's not all that you love me for, is it, dear?” An idle question, with an unsuspected fear lurking in its heart. “I don't know why I love you. It has never occurred to me to investigate the matter.” “Well, try. It will be like playing the game, 'I love my love with an A'!” Thornton shook his head boyishly, and laughed. “It would spoil it all!” he said--“to go worrying about what lies under that sweet face of yours. Can't you understand, darling? What do your qualities matter to me? Provided I can take you in my arms and kiss you as much as I like, what concern is it of mine whether you are acquainted with the cookery book or spell art with a capital A? Don't you think it's more satisfactory to lie here and look into your great blue eyes, and your hair with the sun and wind playing hide and seek in it, and your bosom rising and falling, than to speculate whether you are even-tempered or vindictive or ambitious or fond of Adelaide Proctor's poetry?” “What a boy you are!” she cried light-heartedly, stretching out her hand so as to run her fingers over his crisp brown hair. “So my face has been my fortune!” “And your figure,” he remarked critically. “The whole of you!” “Tell me,” she continued, “what would you have done if I hadn't married you?” He started up to a sitting posture, and his eyes flashed. “I should have gone straight back to Africa and played the very devil there! But you were bound to marry me, you know; and if you had been already a married woman, I should have got to you somehow. I have been hit before in my time, over and over, but never till I met you did I think a woman worth the marriage service. But you're a witch, Clytie,” he added, resuming his former attitude, “the Belle Dame sans Merci.” “Poor fellow,” said Clytie, “poor knight-at-arms! And you do look 'so haggard and so woe-begone,' don't you?” She laughed as she looked at his great frame lying at her feet, and his strong, handsome dark face, with its health and masterfulness. Then she continued in the lightness of her heart: “But seriously, now, Thornton, very seriously. You do want me to be a little help to you in your life--in other ways--don't you? In your ambitions, your work in the world generally. We must begin to talk about such things soon, you know.” Thornton laughed lazily as he lit a cigarette.