But for her he would never have taken the first step.

What right had this poor brainless lump of painted flesh to share his wounds, his triumphs?
What help could she give him when the time should come that he should need it?
Suddenly he broke off.

"What a fool I'm making of myself," he said.

"I always was a dreamer." She forced a laugh.

"Why shouldn't it come true ?" she asked.
They had the little garden to themselves.