"How cosy!" she said, and came over to the fire.
Then she stood, gazing down at him, with a small smile trembling on her lips. She had evidently been crying, and the curves of these same lips looked softer and more childish than ever. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes darkly shadowed.
Bethune sat motionless. After a pause she spoke, still staring reflectively at the flames.
"I wondered where you had been all this dreadful night. You know what has happened? Of course you know."
"I know."
Nothing in his voice or manner struck her—she was so full of the tremendous occasion.
"Ah!" she cried, suddenly flashing upon him, "I think I'm sorry you already know. I should have liked to have been the first to tell you. For you—for you, at least, it's all glorious. Oh, how glad you must be! What it must mean to you!"
He sat like stone: she was worse than the robin. He had thought he had suffered to the fullest capacity; but the girl, with her clear voice and her honest eyes, was tearing his heart to pieces. Then she became conscious that in his silence, though she had known him ever as a silent man, there was something almost sinister.
"What is it?" she asked him. "Oh, I suppose you knew all along? No—you didn't, you couldn't!"
He shook his head.