She forced herself to sit down close to him, and waited icily, steeling herself to yield to his demonstrations of affection if he offered them, but he did not.

“I’ve an idea,” he said.  “I—­I hope you’ll like it.  It’ll be sort of--fun.  Sort of a game, you know. ...  While I sat here this afternoon I was thinking about us—­and—­how I want to make you happy. ...We were married—­suddenly.  Most folks play along and get to know each other, and grow to love each other gradually, I guess. ...I didn’t grow to love you gradually.  I don’t know how it was with you.  But, anyhow, we missed our courtship.  We started right in by being husband and wife.  Of course I’m glad of that. ...Don’t think I’m not.  I wanted you—­ right away.  But—­but my idea was that maybe we could—­have our courtship now—­after we are married. ...Mayn’t we?”

“What—­what do you mean?” she asked, fearfully, hopefully.

“We’ll pretend we aren’t married at all,” he said.  “We’ll make believe we’re at a house party or something, and I just met you.  I’m no end interested in you right off, of course.  I haven’t any idea how you feel about me. ...We’ll start off as if we just met, and it’s up to me to make you fall in love with me. ...I’ll bring out the whole bag of tricks.  Flowers and candy and such like, and walks and rides.  I’ll get right down and pursue you. ...After a while you’ll—­maybe—­ get so far as to call me by my first name.”  He laughed like a small boy.  “And some day you’ll let me hold your hand—­pretending you don’t know I’m holding it at all. ...And I’ll be making love to you to—­to beat the band.  Regular crush I’ll have on you. ...What do you think?”

“You mean really?...You mean we’ll live like that?  That we won’t be married, but do like you said?” She was staring at him with big, unbelieving eyes.

“That’s the idea exactly. ...We won’t be married till I win you.  That’s the game. ...And I’ll try hard—­you haven’t any notion how hard I’ll try.”  There was something pleading, pathetic in his voice, that went to her heart.

“Oh,” she said, breathlessly, “that’s dear of you. ...  You’re good—­ so good. ...  I—­I hate myself. ...  You’ll do that?...  I didn’t—­know anybody—­could be—­so—­so good.”  She swayed, swayed toward him in a storm of tears, and he drew her face down on his shoulder while with awkward hand he patted her shoulder.

“There. ...  There...” he said, clumsily, happily.  She did not draw away from him, but lay there wetting his coat with her tears, her heart swelling with thanks-giving; fear vanished, and something was born in her breast that would never die.  The thing that was born was a perfect trust in this man she had married, and a perfect trust is one of the rarest and most wonderful things under the sun.

For so young a man, Bonbright felt singularly fatherly.  He held his wife gently, silently, willing that she should cry, with a song in his heart because she nestled to him and wept on his shoulder.  If he deluded himself that she clung to him because of other, sweeter emotion than grief, relief, it did not diminish his happiness.  The moment was the best he had known for months, perhaps the best he had ever known.