At least if you countthe Chicago flat

  IT rose for them--their honey-moon--over the waters of a lake sofamed as the scene of romantic raptures that they were ratherproud of not having been afraid to choose it as the setting oftheir own.
　　"It required a total lack of humour, or as great a gift for itas ours, to risk the experiment," Susy Lansing opined, as theyhung over the inevitable marble balustrade and watched theirtutelary orb roll its magic carpet across the waters to theirfeet.
　　"Yes--or the loan of Strefford's villa," her husband emended,glancing upward through the branches at a long low patch ofpaleness to which the moonlight was beginning to give the formof a white house-front.
　　"Oh, come when we'd five to choose from. At least if you countthe Chicago flat.""So we had--you wonder!" He laid his hand on hers, and histouch renewed the sense of marvelling exultation which thedeliberate survey of their adventure always roused in her ....
　　It was characteristic that she merely added, in her steadylaughing tone: "Or, not counting the flat--for I hate to brag-just consider the others: Violet Melrose's place at Versailles,your aunt's villa at Monte Carlo--and a moor!"She was conscious of throwing in the moor tentatively, and yetwith a somewhat exaggerated emphasis, as if to make sure that heshouldn't accuse her of slurring it over. But he seemed to haveno desire to do so. "Poor old Fred!" he merely remarked; andshe breathed out carelessly: "Oh, well--"His hand still lay on hers, and for a long interval, while theystood silent in the enveloping loveliness of the night, she wasaware only of the warm current running from palm to palm, as themoonlight below them drew its line of magic from shore to shore.
　　Nick Lansing spoke at last. "Versailles in May would have beenimpossible: all our Paris crowd would have run us down withintwenty-four hours. And Monte Carlo is ruled out because it'sexactly the kind of place everybody expected us to go. So--with all respect to you--it wasn't much of a mental strain todecide on Como."His wife instantly challenged this belittling of her capacity.
　　"It took a good deal of argument to convince you that we couldface the ridicule of Como!""Well, I should have preferred something in a lower key; atleast I thought I should till we got here. Now I see that thisplace is idiotic unless one is perfectly happy; and that thenit's-as good as any other."She sighed out a blissful assent. "And I must say that Streffyhas done things to a turn. Even the cigars--who do you supposegave him those cigars?" She added thoughtfully: "You'll missthem when we have to go.""Oh, I say, don't let's talk to-night about going. Aren't weoutside of time and space ...? Smell that guinea-a-bottle stuffover there: what is it? Stephanotis?""Y-yes .... I suppose so. Or gardenias .... Oh, the fire-flies! Look ... there, against that splash of moonlight on thewater. Apples of silver in a net-work of gold ...." Theyleaned together, one flesh from shoulder to finger-tips, theireyes held by the snared glitter of the ripples.
　　"I could bear," Lansing remarked, "even a nightingale at thismoment ...."A faint gurgle shook the magnolias behind them, and a longliquid whisper answered it from the thicket of laurel abovetheir heads.
　　"It's a little late in the year for them: they're ending justas we begin."Susy laughed. "I hope when our turn comes we shall say good-byeto each other as sweetly."It was in her husband's mind to answer: "They're not sayinggood-bye, but only settling down to family cares." But as thisdid not happen to be in his plan, or in Susy's, he merely echoedher laugh and pressed her closer.