That, then, was what Aphrodite had always been telling her. She knew now
the meaning of the love in her eyes. This glorious and divine thing had
been given to her, too--out of the night.
It was fully perceived at last, not only half glanced at almost with
fear. Love had come to her, and whatever might reck of sorrow, it meant
her whole life and soul.
And this precious gift of the pure thing from God she had given in her
turn to John Derringham as his lips had pressed her lips.
She spent the whole day in the garden, sitting in the summer house
surveying the world. The blue hills in the far distance were surely the
peaks of Olympus and she had been permitted to know what existence meant
there.
Not a doubt of him entered her heart, or a fear. He certainly loved her
as she loved him; they had been created for each other since the
beginning of time. And it was only a question of arrangement when she
should go away with him and never part any more.
Marriage, as a ceremony in church, meant nothing to her. Some such
thing, of course, must take place, because of the stupid conventions of
the world, but the sacrament, the real mating, was to be
together--alone.
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