“Are we?  Are you very sure?  Are you perfectly sure, Danny, that we are so very far apart?”

Something warm and sweet, so tempestuously sweet that it terrified, for a moment surged, and, half-blinded, I looked up at him.  “Do you mean—?” My fingers interlocked with his.

“That I would like to live in Scarborough Square?” He smiled unsteadily and shook his head.  “No, I wouldn’t know how to live there.  I wouldn’t fit in.  I am just myself.  You are a dozen selves in one.  But I am beginning to see dimly what you see clearly.  Concerning my selfishness there is certainly nothing hazy.  The walls around my house have been pretty high, and perhaps they should come down.  You have much to teach me.  I have a habit of questioning—­”

“So have I. All thinking people question.  But in spite of my questioning, perhaps because of it, I know now that my life—­must count.  It isn’t mine to use just for myself, or in the easiest way.  If there’s anything to it, I’ve got to share it.  Down in Scarborough Square I’ve been seeing myself in the old life, and when I go back to it I cannot—­keep silent concerning what I have learned.  I think perhaps we’ve failed—­the men and women of our world even more discouragingly than the men and women of the worlds I’ve learned to know.  As your wife you might not care to have me say—­”

I stopped, silenced by the view which lay revealed before us, then I gave a little cry.  Peak after peak of tree-filled mountains raised their heads to a sky of brilliant blue whose foam-clouds curled and tumbled in fantastic shapes, and in the valley below was the silence and peace of a place unpeopled.  I turned to Selwyn, and long resistance yielding to that for which there was no words, I let him see the fulness of surrender.  For a long moment we did not speak, then I drew away from his arms.  “We must get out.  It is a heavenly vision.  I want—­”

Getting down from the high, old-fashioned buggy, Selwyn held his arms out to me, lifted me in them to the ground.  “I, too, want here—­my heavenly vision.”  It was difficult to hear him.  Drawing my face to his, he kissed me again.  “You have told me that you loved me. You are mine and I am going to marry you.”

He turned his head and listened, in his face something of the old impatience.  The soft whir of an automobile broke the silence of the sun-filled, breeze-blown air, and I made effort to draw away from Selwyn’s arms.  “Some one is coming,” I said, under my breath.  “Shall we go on or stay here?”

“Stay here.  Why not?” Frowningly, Selwyn for a moment waited, then, with his hand holding mine, we walked nearer the edge of the mountain’s plateau and looked at the ribbon-like road that wound up to its top.  The noise of the engine was more distinct than the car, but gradually the latter could be seen clearly, and presently three figures were distinguished in it.