And she
nestled close up to his side, forgetting everything but the delight of
belonging to him.
They went downstairs, and through the billiard room to the terrace, and
from the terrace to the tennis lawn, where John Hammond sat reading
Heine nearly a year ago, just before he proposed to Lesbia.
'Do you remember that day?' asked Mary, looking at him, solemnly.
'I remember every day and every hour we have spent together since I began
to love you,' answered Hammond.
'Ah, but this was before you began to love me,' said Mary, with a
piteous little grimace. 'This was while you were loving Lesbia as hard
as ever you could. Don't you remember the day you proposed to her--a
lovely summer day like this, the lake just as blue, the sun shining upon
Fairfield just as it is shining now, and you sat there reading
Heine--those sweet, sweet verses, that seemed made of sighs and tears;
and every now and then you paused and looked up at Lesbia, and there was
more love in your eyes than in all Heine's poetry, though that brims
over with love.
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