“I’m not going to pretend to misunderstand you,” she said, and turned laughing eyes toward him. “I knew all the time that it was Dick who had done some shabby thing, and you were trying to shield him.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew.”
“But you told me I ought to get a mask,” Ellery fumbled.
“I meant when you try to tell lies. You don’t do it with the grace and conviction of an accomplished hand. Pooh, I can read you like an open book.”
“I am very glad you can,” he said deliberately. “I thank God you can, because on every page you will read the truth—that I love you—I love you. I’m wanting you to read it in your own way, but some time I am going to let the passion of it loosen this slow tongue of mine and tell you in my own fashion how much it is.”
He turned and strode abruptly away. Madeline went in to the firelight of home.
“Why, you look as bright as though you’d heard good news,” exclaimed Mr. Elton, peering over his newspaper in welcome.
“Do I, father?” Madeline stooped to rub her cheek softly against his and laughed to herself. “Why, I believe I have. That shows what a whirligig I am. I went out thinking life was a tragedy, and I come back thinking it—”
“What, little girl?”