if a musician were sweeping
the strings of a harp. If this were not love, what could it be?

Her whole being, body and soul, responded to his. Her body moved
instinctively toward his, drawn by some hidden, resistless power. Her
hands went out to meet his; her lips leaped to his.

She must test it with time, of course. And yet she knew by a deep inner
sense that time could only fan the flame that had been kindled into
consuming fire that must melt every barrier between them.

She had asked him nothing of himself, his business or his future, and
knew nothing except what he had told her in the first impetuous rush of
his confession of love. No matter. The big thing today was the fact
of love and the new radiance with which it was beginning to light the
world. The effect was stunning. Their conversation had been the simplest
of commonplace questions and answers--and yet the day was the one
miracle of her life--her happiness something unthinkable until realized.

She had not asked time in order to know him better. She had only asked
time to see herself more clearly in the new experience. Not for a moment
did she raise the question of the worthiness of the man she loved. It
was inconceivable that she should love a man not worthy of her. The only
questions asked were soul-searching ones put to herself.

Through the sweet, cool drive homeward, a hundred times she asked
within:

"Is this love?"

And each time the answer came from the depths:

"Yes--yes--a thousand times yes. It's the voice of God. I feel it and I
know it."

He throttled the racer down to the lowest speed and took the longest
road home.

Again and again he slipped his left hand from the wheel and pressed
hers.

"You won't let anybody knock me behind my back, now will you, little
girl?"

She pressed his hand in answer.

"I ain't got a single friend in all God's world to stand up for me but
just you."

"You don't need anyone," she whispered.

"You'll give me a chance to get back at 'em if any of your friends knock
me, won't you?"

"Why should they dislike you?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I ain't exactly one o' the high-flyers now am I?"

"I'm glad you're not."

"Sure enough?"

"Yes."

"Then it's me for you, Kiddo, for this world and the next."

The car swung suddenly to the curb and Mary lifted her eyes with a start
to find herself in front of her home.

Jim sprang to the ground and lifted her out.

"Keep this coat," he