what?"

"The same as my marrying you. Oh, Keith, that's one of the things I
said we weren't to say. Do you know, once Kitty was angry with me. She
said I was playing with fire--the divine fire. Ought I to have been
afraid of it? Just a little bit in awe?"

"What? Of the divine fire? I gave it you, dearest, to play with--or to
warm your little hands by."

"And now you've given it me to keep, to put my hands round it--so--and
take care of it and see that it never goes out. I can do that, can't
I, whatever happens?"

There was always that refrain: Whatever happens.

"I keep forgetting it doesn't really belong to me; it belongs to
everybody, to the whole world. I believe I'm jealous."

"Of the British public? It doesn't really love me, Lucy, nor I it."

"Whether it does or not, you _do_ remember that I loved you
first--before anybody ever knew?"

"I do indeed."

"It _is_ a shame to be so glad because Kitty is away."

Yet she continued to rejoice in the happiness that came of their
solitude. It was Keith, not Kitty, who arranged her cushions for her
and covered her feet; Keith, not Kitty, who poured out tea for her,
and brought it her, and sat beside her afterwards, leaning over her
and stroking her soft hair, as Kitty loved to do.

"Lucy," he said suddenly, "can you stand living with me in a horrid
little house in a suburb?"

"I should love it. Dear little house."

"Maddox is in it now; but we'll turn him out. You don't know Maddox?"

She shuddered, and he drew the rug in closer about her.

"It's such a tiny house, Lucy; it would all go into this room."

"This room," said Lucy, "is much too large."

"There's only room for you and me in it."

"All the better, so long as there's room for me."

"And the walls are all lath and plaster. When Maddox is in another
room I can hear him breathing."

"And when I'm in another room I shall hear you breathing; and then I
shall know you're alive when I'm afraid you're not. I'm glad the walls
are all lath and plaster."

"But it isn't a pretty house, Lucy."

"It will be a pretty house when I'm in it," said she, and was admitted
to have had the best of the argument.

"Then, if you really don't mind, we shan't have to wait. Not a week,
if you're ready to come to me."

But Lucia's face was sad. "Keith--darling--don't make plans till we
know what Sir Wilfrid Spence says."

"I shall, whatever he says. But I suppose I must consult him before I
take you to Alassio.