“You’re not a bit glad to see me.”
“Oh, yes, I am,” she returned, with an attempt at an easy social manner. “Will you have some tea?”
“But why aren’t you glad?”
Miss Severance clasped her hands on the edge of the tea-tray and looked down. She pressed her palms together; she set her teeth, but the muscles in her throat went on contracting; and the heroic struggle was lost.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said, and making no further effort to conceal the fact that her eyes were full of tears she looked straight up at him.
He sat down beside her on the small, low sofa and put his hand on hers.
“But I was perfectly certain to come,” he said very gently, “because, you see, I think I love you.”
“Do you think I love you?” she asked, seeking information.
“I can’t tell,” he answered. “Your being sorry I did not come doesn’t prove anything. We’ll see. You’re so wonderfully young, my dear!”
“I don’t think eighteen is so young. My mother was married before she was twenty.”