cult not to shrink a
little from what was taking place. This then was love, and love was, of
course, the sweetest thing in the world. That was one of the truths
which she had accepted as she had accepted the beauty of Shakespeare, as
something not to be disputed, yet remote. He was a big, affectionate
fellow, and she must make up her mind to kiss him. So she turned her
face toward him and their lips met eagerly, forestalling the little peck
which she had intended. She let her head fall back at his pressure on to
his shoulder, and gazed up at the moon.

"Are you happy, Selma?" he asked, giving her a fond, firm squeeze.

"Yes, Lewis."

She could feel his frame throb with joy at the situation as she uttered
his name.

"We'll be married right away. That's if you're willing. My business is
going first-rate and, if it keeps growing for the next year as it has
for the past two, you'll be rich presently. When shall it be, Selma?"

"You're in dreadful haste. Well, I'll promise to give the selectmen
notice to-morrow that they must find another teacher."

"Because the one they have now is going to become Mrs. Lewis J. Babcock.
I'm the luckiest fellow, hooray! in creation. See here," he added,
taking her hand, "I guess a ring wouldn't look badly there--a real
diamond, too. Pretty little fingers."

She sighed gently, by way of response. It was comfortable nestling in
the hollow of his shoulder, and a new delightful experience to be
hectored with sweetness in this way. How round and bountiful the moon
looked. She was tired of her present life. What was coming would be
better. Her opportunity was at hand to show the world what she was made
of.

"A real diamond, and large at that," he repeated, gazing down at her,
and then, as though the far away expression in her eyes suggested
kinship with the unseen and the eternal, he said, admiringly but humbly,
"It must be grand to be clever like you, Selma. I'm no good at that. But
if loving you will make up for it, I'll go far, little woman."

"What I know of that I like, and--and if some day, I can make you proud
of me, so much the better," said Selma.

"Proud of you? You are an angel, and you know it."

She closed her eyes and sighed again. Even the bright avenues of fame,
which her keen eyes had traversed through the golden moon, paled before
this tribute from the lips of real flesh and blood. What woman can
withstand the fascination of a lover's faith that she is an angel? If a