They loved each other, and that was enough.

They did not look ahead further than the following day, and then but furtively, and only in order that their morrow's parting might intensify their happiness of to-day.

That New Year's Day was to be the end of everything.

Blix was going; she and Condy would never see each other again.

The thought of marriage--with its certain responsibilities, its duties, its gravity, its vague, troublous seriousness, its inevitable disappointments--was even a little distasteful to them.