er.

"Maybe it's a bit early yet for wedding presents. They say you won't be
married till next fall. But I've always wanted you to have this tea-set
of mother's--it's real silver, as you can see by the lion on it--a
teapot and milk jug and sugar bowl; many's the time I've seen you in my
mind's eye, setting like a queen and pouring my tea out of it. Since it
can't be my tea, it may as well be another's."

"There'll always be a cup for you, Arthur," said Joanna graciously.

"Thanks," said Arthur in a stricken voice.

Joanna could not feel as sorry for Alce as she ought and would have
liked. All her emotions, whether of joy or sorrow, seemed to be poured
into the wonderful new life that Martin had given her. A new life had
begun for her on Christmas Day--in fact, it would be true to say that a
new Joanna had begun. Something in her was broken, melted, changed out
of all recognition--she was softer, weaker, more excited, more tender.
She had lost much of her old swagger, her old cocksureness, for Martin
had utterly surprised and tamed her. She had come to him in a scheming
spirit of politics, and he had kept her in a spirit of devotion. She had
come to him as Ansdore to North Farthing--but he had stripped her of
Ansdore, and she was just Joanna Godden who had waited twenty-eight
years for love.

Yet, perhaps because she had waited so long, she was now a little
afraid. She had hitherto met love only in the dim forms of Arthur Alce
and Dick Socknersh, with still more hazy images in the courtships of
Abbot and Cobb. Now Martin was showing her love as no dim flicker or
candlelight or domestic lamplight but as a bright, eager fire. She loved
his kisses, the clasp of his strong arms, the stability of his chest and
shoulders--but sometimes his passion startled her, and she had queer,
shy withdrawals. Yet these were never more than temporary and
superficial; her own passions were slowly awaking, and moreover had
their roots in a sweet, sane instinct of vocation and common sense.

On the whole, though, she was happiest in the quieter ways of love--the
meals together, the fireside talks, the meetings in lonely places, the
queer, half-laughing secrets, the stolen glances in company. She made a
great fuss of his bodily needs--she was convinced that he did not get
properly fed or looked after at home, and was always preparing him
little snacks and surprises. For her sake Martin swallowed innumerable
cups of milk and wrapped his ch