XI - HOME
“Oh, darling, I can scarcely believe it,” she murmured, smiling, and gazing up with her large soft eyes into his, “it seems to me like heaven that I can look, and speak, and say everything without danger, or any more concealment, and always have my Ry with me—never to be separated again, you know, darling, while we live.”
“Poor little woman,” said he, fondly, looking down with an answering smile, “she does love me a little bit, I think.”
“And Ry loves his poor little bird, doesn’t he?”
“Adores her—idolatry—idolatry.”
“And we’ll be so happy!”
“I hope so, darling.”
“Hope?” echoed she, chilled, and a little piteously.
“I’m sure of it, darling—quite certain,” he repeated, laughing tenderly; “she’s such a foolish little bird, one must watch their phrases; but I was only thinki
