But his fingers wandered through her tobacco-coloured hair.
He had a strange notion.
"Put your arms round my neck," he whispered.
Thus the old, old story was told once more.
A month afterwards the president of the Society for Doing Without received by post a box of bride-cake, adorned with the silver gilt which is also largely used for coffins.
* * * * * * More than two years have passed since Andrew's marriage, and already the minister has two sweet grandchildren, in whom he renews his youth.
Except during school-hours their parents' married life is one long honeymoon.
Clarrie has put Lord Randolph Churchill's shoe into a glass case on the piano, and, as is only natural, Andrew is now a staunch Conservative.
Domesticated and repentant, he has renounced the devil and all her works.
Sometimes, when thinking of the past, the babble of his lovely babies jars upon him, and, still half-dreaming, he brings their heads close together.
At such a time all the anxious mother has to say is: "Andrew!" Then with a start he lays them gently in a heap on the floor, and, striding the room, soon regains his composure.
For Andrew has told Clarrie all the indiscretions of his life in London, and she has forgiven everything.
Ah, what will not a wife forgive!.