She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. It had been her home for hundreds of years. His arms slipped around her waist as they were on the doorstep and he kissed her lips sweetly. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. ” “No,” she cried, “I will not. It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. You did not marry her because you loved her; you did not marry because she might have had money; you did not marry her out of gratitude; you did not marry her because you had to.
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