"Your eyes are looking at the sky, Thelma," he whispered. "Do you know what that is? Heaven looking into heaven! And do you know which of the two heavens I prefer?" She smiled, and turning, met his ardent gaze with one of equal passion and tenderness.
"Ah, you do know!" he went on, softly kissing the side of her slim white throat. "I thought you couldn't possibly make a mistake!" He rested his head against her shoulder, and after a minute or two of lazy comfort, he resumed. "You are not ambitious, my Thelma! You don't seem to care whether your husband distinguishes himself in the 'Ouse,' as our friend the brewer calls it, or not. In fact, I don't believe you care for anything save--love! Am I not right, my wife?"
A wave of rosy color flushed her transparent skin, and her eyes filled with an earnest, almost pathetic languor.
"Surely of all things in the world," she said in a low tone,--"Love is best?"
To this he made prompt answer, though not in words--his lips conversed with hers, in that strange, sweet language which, though unwritten, is everywhere comprehensible,--and then they left their shady resting-place and sauntered homeward hand in hand through the warm fields fragrant with wild thyme and clover.
Many happy days passed thus with these lovers--for lovers they still were. Marriage had for once fulfilled its real and sacred meaning--it had set Love free from restraint, and had opened all the gateways of the only earthly paradise human hearts shall ever know,--the paradise of perfect union and absolute sympathy with the one thing beloved on this side eternity.
The golden hours fled by all too rapidly,--and towards the close of August there came an interruption to their felicity. Courtesy had compelled Bruce-Errington and his wife to invite a few friends down to visit them at the Manor before the glory of the summer-time was past,--and first among the guests came Lord and Lady Winsleigh and their bright boy, Ernest. Her ladyship's maid, Louise Rénaud, of course, accompanied her ladyship,--and Briggs was also to the fore in the capacity of Lord Winsleigh's personal attendant. After these, George Lorimer arrived--he had avoided the Erringtons all the season,--but he could not very well refuse the pressing invitation now given him without seeming churlish,--then came Beau Lovelace, for a few days only, as with the commencement of September he would be off as usual to his villa on the Lago di Como. Sir Francis Lennox, too, made his appearance frequently in a casual sort of way--he "ran down," to use his own expression, now and then, and made himself very agreeable, especially to men, by whom he was well liked for his invariable good-humor and extraordinary proficiency in all sports and games of skill. Another welcome visitor was Pierre Duprèz, lively and sparkling as ever,--he came from Paris to pass a fortnight with his "cher Phil-eep," and make merriment for the whole party. His old admiration for Britta had by no means decreased,--he was fond of waylaying that demure little maiden on her various household errands, and giving her small posies of jessamine and other sweet-scented blossoms to wear just above the left-hand corner of her apron-bib, close to the place where the heart is supposed to be. Olaf Güldmar had been invited to the Manor at this period,--Errington wrote many urgent letters, and so did Thelma, entreating him to come,--for nothing would have pleased Sir Philip more than to have introduced the fine old Odin worshipper among his fashionable friends, and to have heard him bluntly and forcibly holding his own among them, putting their feint and languid ways of life to shame by his manly, honest, and vigorous utterance. But Güldmar had only just returned to the Altenfjord after nearly a year's absence, and his hands were too full of work for him to accept his son-in-law's invitation.