"Some few might," he admits, almost against his better judgment.
"Why, do you not see that it is all, all there is of real joy, of perfect bliss? There is nothing else that can so thrill the soul."
They surge against a crowd on the corner crossing. He pauses and glances at her. "Shall we go home?" he asks, "or somewhere else? If it is home, we may as well take a car."
"Oh, home!" she answers. So they take the car and there is no more talking, but he watches the face of youth and happy thoughts, and is glad that it is his very own.
The train is crowded as well. An instinctive shyness would forbid her talking much under the eyes of strangers, if good breeding did not. She settles in her corner and thinks the good night over and over, until she again sees Miss Neilson's love-lit, impassioned countenance.
The sun has dropped down and it is quite cold now. They must go for Cecil.
"Oh," cries Violet, remorsefully, "we forgot Cecil! We never brought her anything! But I have a lovely box of creams at home; only you do not like her to eat so much sweets."
"Give her the creams." and he smiles at her tenderness.
Cecil welcomes them joyfully. She has two lovely little iced cakes baked in patty-pans.
"One is for you, mamma——" Then she suddenly checks herself. "O Denise, we ought to have baked three; we forgot papa!" she says, with childish naiveté.