"The very first time I have beaten you, David," exulted the girl.
"Isn't everything glorious?" she demanded, with all of youth's
enthusiasm.
"Just glorious," came the ready answer, with all of mature manhood's
response to girlish youth. Clasping the slender hands more tightly, he
added, laughing, "And I kiss the fingers that defeated me."
"Oh, David," the buoyant voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "I love
you,--I love you,--I--I am just crazy about you."
"Careful, Carol, remember the manse," he cautioned gaily.
"But this is honeymooning, and the manse hasn't gloomed on my horizon
yet. I'll be careful when I get installed. I am really a Methodist
yet, and Methodists are expected to shout and be enthusiastic. When we
move into our manse, and the honeymoon is ended, I'll just say, 'I am
very fond of you, Mr. Duke.'" The voice lengthened into prim and prosy
solemnity.
"But our honeymoon isn't to end. Didn't we promise that it should last
forever?"
"Of course it will." She dimpled up at him, snuggling herself in the
arm that still encircled her shoulders. "Of course it will." She
balanced her racquet on the top of his head as he bent adoringly over
her. "Of course it will,--unless your grim old Presbyterians manse all
the life out of me.
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