And when they write stories about married people they
usually have them terribly unhappy about having to live together, and
wishing they could live with some one else. It seems to me they leave out
the best part."
"The best part, I suppose, meaning us?"
"Yes!"
"But, dear, if you and I were written up, just as we are, we'd be called
two idiots."
"Would we?"--her head was caressing his coat.
"Have you ever thought how a stenographic or phonographic report of some
of our conversations would sound?"
"Beautiful," she murmured.
"Crazy!" he insisted.
"Perhaps the world didn't mean people to be so happy as we are,"--her
words stumbled drowsily.
"The world isn't as good to many people as it is to us. Oh,
sweetheart--why,"--he held her closely but very tenderly, for he knew she
was going to sleep--"why are we so happy?"
"Because I'm the--lovely--lady,"--it came from just outside the land of
dreams.
It was sweet to have her go to sleep in his arms like this. He trembled
with the joy of holding her, looking at her face with eyes of tenderest
love, rejoicing in her, worshipping her.
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