watched his sleep on the sands, now learned the intimate sweetness of his small, definite personality, felt the soft charm of his unfolding intelligence and expressiveness, was infinitely touched by his dependence on her, and his consciousness of it. She came to love him with part of the emotion that hitherto had been given only to Basil.
Except for the baby, Teresa was bored; she lived a perfectly hygienic life, and saw that she grew more beautiful. Basil's warm recognition of this fact, during the month that he spent with her, lent a new interest to life. Their separation, the first since their marriage, was due to money necessities. Basil had found that an income which sufficed for two self-indulgent people was not enough for two and a baby; and he had been painting pot-boilers for Mrs. Perry, who had a scheme for decorating her library with views of the natural beauties of America. He had been bored, too, as his daily letters showed Teresa; he had longed for her, restless in the loss of their companionship and the domestic atmosphere which satisfied some deep need of his nature; and when he finally came it was like an ardent burst of the south wind—a storm of happiness. He wanted to spend his whole day beside Teresa, to talk to her half the night; he was even jealous of the baby. It was a new honeymoon, more passionate than the
