our village in the Vosges after we are well and duly and respectably
married in Melford. Don't you think I am reasonable, Asticot?"

"My dear Joanna," said Paragot, "you have infatuated this boy to such an
extent that he would agree with you in anything. Of course he will say
that the Reverend and respectable Mr. Hawkfield is better than the
picturesque Monsieur le Maire, and that a wedding cake from Gunter's is
preferable to the curdled cheese of Valdeauvau. He would perjure his
little soul to atoms for your sake."

"I thought somebody else would too," whispered Joanna softly.

Paragot yielded as he looked down at her sea-shell face.

"So he would. For your sake he would go through Hell and the Church of
England service for the Solemnization of Matrimony."

We were walking round and round the broad gravel path that enclosed the
tennis lawn. Land was cheap in the days when the Georgian houses of the
High Street were built, and people took as much for garden purposes as
they desired. The gardens were the only truly spacious things in
Melford. There was a long silence. The lovers seemed to have forgotten
my existence. Presently Joanna spoke.

"You must remember that I am still a member of the Church of England,
and look at the religious side of marriage. It would be very pretty to
be married by Monsieur le Maire, but I could not reconcile it to my
conscience. So when you speak scoffingly of a marriage in church you
rather hurt me, Gaston."

"You must forgive me, _ma cherie_," said he, humbly. "I am a happy
Pagan and it is so long since I have met anyone who belonged to the
Church of England that I thought the institution had perished of
inanition."

"Why, you went with me to church last Sunday."

"So I did," said he, "but I thought it was only to worship the Great
British God Respectability."

Joanna sighed and turned the conversation to the autumn tints and other
impersonal things, and I noticed that she drew Paragot's arm again
around her waist, as if to reassure herself of something. As we passed
by the porch, I entered the house; but loving to look on my dear lady, I
lingered, and saw her hold up her lips. He bent down and kissed them.

"Don't think me foolish, Gaston," she said, "but I have starved for love
for thirteen years."

By the gesture of his arm and the working of his features, I saw that he
rhapsodised in reply.

To the sentimental youngster who looked on, this love-making seemed an
idyll wi