vants, and think twice of every sovereign we
spend."

"Shall we?" asked Jean absently. She was occupied in measuring her
small white hand against Robert's sunburnt palm, and had no attention to
spare for such minor details. Her own dress allowance of a hundred a
year had invariably to be supplemented by an indulgent father, but it
seemed to her a matter of supreme unimportance whether Robert were rich
or poor. At that moment she would have received with equanimity the
news that he was a huckster of goods, and that she would be expected to
follow his barrow through the streets. Monetary conditions simply did
not exist; but on another point there was no end to her exactions.

"_How_ much do you love me?"

"Beyond all words, and all measures, beyond the capacity of mortal man.
That is why I feel a giant at this moment--a god! There's no room for
my love in a man's poor frame."

Jean dimpled deliriously. This was just as it should be, and such good
hearing that it could bear endless repetition.

"And am I the first? Have you never loved any one before?"

"Not for a moment. The thought of marriage never entered my head. I
thought I was far better off as I was. Oh, Jean, imagine it!"

Jean smiled at him with shy, lovely eyes.

"And never flirted, nor run after a pretty girl?"

"Goodness, _yes_!" The emphasis of Robert's affirmative was a trifle
disconcerting to Jean's complacence. "What do you take me for, Jean? I
adore pretty girls. I should be a fool if I didn't. At balls and
picnics it's part of the programme to get up a passing flirtation. I
wish I had a sovereign for every one I've enjoyed in the last ten years.
Half a dozen dances and supper, and forget all about her next day--you
know the sort of thing! It doesn't enter into _our_ calculations."

Jean stared, considered, and finally laughed.

"No, it doesn't! Thank goodness I am not jealous. I have dozens of
faults, as you will find out to your cost, poor boy; but that's not one.
I don't mind how many pretty girls you admire. We'll admire them
together. You are mine; we belong to each other. As you say, that sort
of thing doesn't _enter_." She sat silent, musing with parted lips. A
bird hopped lightly across the grass, peered at them for a moment with
bright, curious eyes, and soared up to the blue. The air was sweet with
the fresh, pungent scent of the earth.

"What _is_ it?" questioned Jean, as every lover has questioned since th