“You should do something for that right away,” I said, as we struck ourselves apart.  “You let a cough like that run along and you don’t know what it may end in.”  Whereupon, having kissed no one on this occasion, I now kissed Miss Caroline,—­without difficulty, I may add.

“I’ve been meaning to do it for a year,” I explained.

“I must remind you that they were far less deliberate in my day,” said she, with a delicate hint of reminiscence in her tone.  Whereupon she looked searchingly at each of us in turn.  Then, with a little gasp, she wept daintily upon my love’s shoulder.

I had long suspected that tears were a mere aesthetic refreshment with Miss Caroline.  I had never known her weaken to them when there seemed to be far better reasons for it than the present occasion furnished.

“I must take her home,” said my love, without speaking.

“Do!” I urged, likewise in silence, but understandably.

“And I must be alone,” she called, as they stepped out on to the lawn.

“So must I.”  It had not occurred to me; but I could see thoughts with which my mind needed at once to busy itself.  I watched them go slowly into the dusk.  I thought Miss Caroline seemed to be recovering.

When they had gone, I stepped out to look up at the strange new stars.  The measure of my dream was full and running over.  To stand there and breathe full and laugh aloud—­that was my prayer of gratitude; nor did I lack the presence of mind to hope that, in ascending, it might in some way advantage the soul of J. Rodney Potts, that humble tool with which the gods had wrought such wonders.

It was no longer a dream, no vision brief as a summer’s night, when the light fades late to come again too soon.  Before, in that dreaming time, I saw that I had drawn water like the Danaides, in a pitcher full of holes.  But now—­I wondered how long she would find it good to be alone.  I felt that I had been alone long enough, and that seven minutes, or possibly eight, might suffice even her.

She came almost with the thought, though I believe she did not hurry after she saw that I observed her.

“I had to be alone a long time, to think well about it—­to think it all out,” she said simply.

I thought it unnecessary to state the precise number of minutes this had required.  Instead I showed her all those strange new stars above us, and together we surveyed the replenished heavens.

“How light it is—­and so late!” she murmured absently.

“Come back to our porch.”

There for the first time in its green life my vine came into its natural right of screening lovers.  In its shade my love cast down her eyes, but intrepidly lifted her lips.  Miss Caroline was still where she should have remained in the first place.

“I am very happy, Little Miss!”

“You shall be still happier, Calvin Blake.  I haven’t waited this long without knowing—­”