Arthur was
enchanted. He was very proud, very pleased, and very happy. They talked
of all the things they would do when they were married. They talked of
the places they must go to, of their home and of the beautiful things
with which they would fill it. Margaret's animation was extraordinary.
Arthur was amused at her delight with the brightness of the place, with
the good things they ate, and with the wine. Her laughter was like a
rippling brook. Everything tended to take him out of his usual reserve.
Life was very pleasing, at that moment, and he felt singularly joyful.
'Let us drink to the happiness of our life,' he said.
They touched glasses. He could not take his eyes away from her.
'You're simply wonderful tonight,' he said. 'I'm almost afraid of my good
fortune.'
'What is there to be afraid of?' she cried.
'I should like to lose something I valued in order to propitiate the
fates. I am too happy now. Everything goes too well with me.'
She gave a soft, low laugh and stretched out her hand on the table. No
sculptor could have modelled its exquisite delicacy.
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