The Valley of the Moon. Джек Лондон

man-boy. And she was aware of pride in herself, in her woman's desirableness that had won for her so wonderful a lover.

      “Well, Bert an' Mary, here you are at Saxon's and my wedding supper. We're just goin' to take all your good wishes to heart, we wish you the same back, and when we say it we mean more than you think we mean. Saxon an' I believe in tit for tat. So we're wishin' for the day when the table is turned clear around an' we're sittin' as guests at your weddin' supper. And then, when you come to Sunday dinner, you can both stop Saturday night in the spare bedroom. I guess I was wised up when I furnished it, eh?”

      “I never thought it of you, Billy!” Mary exclaimed. “You're every bit as raw as Bert. But just the same …”

      There was a rush of moisture to her eyes. Her voice faltered and broke. She smiled through her tears at them, then turned to look at Bert, who put his arm around her and gathered her on to his knees.

      When they left the restaurant, the four walked to Eighth and Broadway, where they stopped beside the electric car. Bert and Billy were awkward and silent, oppressed by a strange aloofness. But Mary embraced Saxon with fond anxiousness.

      “It's all right, dear,” Mary whispered. “Don't be scared. It's all right. Think of all the other women in the world.”

      The conductor clanged the gong, and the two couples separated in a sudden hubbub of farewell.

      “Oh, you Mohegan!” Bert called after, as the car got under way. “Oh, you Minnehaha!”

      “Remember what I said,” was Mary's parting to Saxon.

      The car stopped at Seventh and Pine, the terminus of the line. It was only a little over two blocks to the cottage. On the front steps Billy took the key from his pocket.

      “Funny, isn't it?” he said, as the key turned in the lock. “You an' me. Just you an' me.”

      While he lighted the lamp in the parlor, Saxon was taking off her hat. He went into the bedroom and lighted the lamp there, then turned back and stood in the doorway. Saxon, still unaccountably fumbling with her hatpins, stole a glance at him. He held out his arms.

      “Now,” he said.

      She came to him, and in his arms he could feel her trembling.