“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. ” She raked into the fire with the poker. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man.
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