"There was a message from your mother; she has gone to your father and wanted you to meet her there. But we will talk of that later."
"Yes.... Good-night, Mark."
"Aren't you going to kiss me good-night?" he asked, hesitating a little between the words. His new privilege, a lover's, a husband's, was not an hour old; he felt strangely shy as he spoke softly to her.
"Please, Mark! I am terribly tired out, and--and I'm afraid I've mislaid the key, and----"
That hurt him; his eyes darkened with the quick pain that came to him from her words. He had hoped that Gloria had known him better than that.
"You need never lock your door against me, my dear," he told her gently. "I don't want you to be afraid of me. Why, God bless you, I wouldn't touch the hem of your dress if you didn't want me to."
"Yes," said Gloria. "I know. You are so good, Mark. But now----"
"I am going," he returned tenderly, "to sit by the fire and think. Just to soak myself in the realization," he added with a happy laugh, "that you are mine."
"Before you go in the morning you will come to my door?"
"If you want me to...."
"Of course, Mark."
"Then--good-night, dear."
"Good-night, Mark."