He had spent days and nights in the service of his friends, and had, besides, laid the burden of their anxieties upon her.
He would pay her in return twice as many days of gladness to make up for the pain she had so cheerfully borne.

What could he do to thank her ?--how discharge the obligation?
Every hour he would tell her, and in different ways--by his tenderness, by his obedience to her slightest wish, anticipating her every want--how much he appreciated her unselfishness, and how much better, if that were possible, he loved her for her sacrifice.

Nor was there, when the day came, any limit to his devotion or to her enjoyment.

There were rides over the hills in the soft September mornings--Indian summer in its most dreamy and summery state; there were theatre parties of two and no more; when they sat in the third row in the balcony, where it was cheaper, and where, too, they wouldn't have to speak to anybody else.

There were teas in Washington Square, where nobody but themselves and their hostess were present, as well as other unexpected outings, in which all the rest of the world was forgotten.
The house, too, was all their own.