She turned on him a face,
once again bright, all clouds withdrawn, softened into dimpling
reassurance.
"What an idea!" she said. "Men have no sense."
"Very well, spoiled girl. I suppose we'll have to put it off till we
get to California."
She dropped back full length on the ground, and in the expansion of her
relief laid her cheek against the hand that clasped hers.
"And until we get the house built," she cried, beginning to laugh.
"And the garden laid out and planted, I suppose?"
"Of course. And the vines growing over the front porch."
"Why not over the second story? We'll have a second story by that
time."
"Over the whole house, up to the chimneys."
They both laughed, a cheerful bass and a gay treble, sweeping out
across the unquiet water.
"It's going to be the Golden Age," she said, in the joy of her respite
pressing her lips on the hand she held. "A cottage covered with vines
to the roof and you and I and Daddy John inside it."
"And David, don't forget David."
"Of course, David," she assented lightly, for David's occupancy was
removed to a comfortable distance.
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