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No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. He kissed her ardently. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings.
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