They sat on the hilltop, looking down on noon in the valley, sleepily talking till he roused with: "Why won't you marry me?"
"No. Not for years, anyway. I'm too old—thirty-two to your—what is it, twenty-eight or -nine? And I must be free for the service of Our Lord. . . . You do know I mean that? I am really consecrated, no matter what I may seem to do!"
"Sweet, of course I do! Oh, yes."
"But not marry. It's good at times to be just human, but mostly I have to live like a saint. . . . Besides, I do think men converts come in better if they know I'm not married."
"Damn it, listen! Do you love me a little?"
"Yes. A little! Oh, I'm as fond of you as I can be of any one except Katie Jonas. Dear child!"
She dropped her head on his shoulder, casually now, in the bee-thrumming orchard aisle, and his arm tightened.
That evening they sang gospel hymns together, to the edification of the Old Family Servants, who began to call him Doctor.
