High overhead a feathered cloud hung, tinged with rose.
The south drive was bordered deep in syringas, all over snowy bloom; and as they passed they inhaled the full fragrance of the flowers with every breath.
"It's like heaven," said Duane; "and you are not incongruous in the landscape, either." She looked around at him; the smile that curved her mouth had the faintest suspicion of tenderness about it.
She said slowly: "Do you realise that I am genuinely glad to see you?
I've been horrid to you.

I don't yet really believe in you, Duane.

I detest some of the things you are and say and do; but, after all, I've missed you.
Incredible as it sounds, I've been a little lonely without you." He said gaily: "When a woman becomes accustomed to chasing the family cat out of the parlour with the broom, she misses the sport when the cat migrates permanently." "Have you migrated--permanently?
O Duane! I thought you _did_ care for me--in your own careless fashion----" "I do.

But I'm not hopelessly enamoured of your broom-stick!" Her laugh was a little less spontaneous, as she answered: "I know I have been rather free with my broom.

I'm sorry." "You _have_ made some sweeping charges on that cat!" he said, laughing.
"I know I have.