hese three words. And with every iteration, the
thrill in her voice seemed to deepen. "And, Billy--."

"Yes."

"I'm not quite sure when--but I know I'm going to marry you some time."

"I'll wait, then," Billy promised. "As long as I know you love me, I can
wait until--the imagination of man has not conceived the limit yet."

"Well, how have you been to-day?" Ralph asked. But before Peachy could
speak, he answered himself in a falsetto voice that parodied her round,
clear accents, "I want to fly! I want to fly! I want to fly!" His
tone was not ill-tempered, however; and his look was humorously a
affectionate, as one who has asked the same question many times and
received the same answer.

"I do want to fly, Ralph," Peachy said listlessly. "Won't you let me?
Oh, please let my wings grow again?"

Ralph shook his head inflexibly. "Couldn't do it, my dear. It's not
womanly. The air is no place for a woman. The earth is her home."

"That's not argument," Peachy asserted haughtily. "That's statement. Not
that I want to argue the question. My argument is unanswerable. Why did
we have wings, if not to fly. But I don't want to quarrel--." Her voice
sank to pleading. "I'd always be here when you came back. You'd never
see me flying. It would not prevent me from doing my duty as your wife
or as Angela's mother. In fact, I could do it better because it would
make me so happy and well. After a while, I could take Angela with me.
Oh, that would be rapture!" Peachy's eyes gleamed.

Ralph shook his head. "Couldn't think of it, my dear. The clouds are no
place for my wife. Besides, I doubt if your wings would ever grow after
the clipping to which we've submitted them. Now, put something on, and
I'll carry you down on the beach."

"Tell me about the New Camp, and what you did to-day!" Peachy asked,
after an interval in which she visibly struggled for control.

"Oh, Lord, ask anything but that," Addington exclaimed with a sudden
gust of his old irritability. "I work hard enough all day. When I get
home, I want to talk about something else. It rests me not to think of
it."

"But, Ralph," Peachy entreated, "I could help you. I know I could. I
have so many ideas about things. You know Pete says I'm a real artist.
It would interest me so much if you would only talk over the building
plans with me."

"I don't know that I am particularly interested in Pete's opinion of
your abilities," Addington rejoined coldly. "My dear little gir