“He has learned that my love is my own affair, along with my politics.”
“Let me do my part, Harlan,” she said, proudly. “Love will light the waiting, and it will not seem waiting. When I take my place at your side he shall not be able to say that I am not the wife for you.”
“It’s enough for me to-night that I love you and you love me. The years must take care of themselves. Love will mark off the calendar for us, little sweetheart, not in months or in years, but in one dear summer of waiting that will make work worth while and life worth living.”
He patted the horse’s neck and they went slowly up the road toward the Kavanagh house, their arms about each other, the gracious dusk hiding them. Life’s future hid its problem. Love’s present was enough.