“Well, I am glad of that,” said Peter, feeling rather at a loss.
“I love you dearly,” said Hilda, with a certain air of dreary dignity; “you are you. I don’t have to imagine anything.”
Odd put her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
“Thank you, my dear child. I love you too, and certainly I don’t have to imagine anything.”
Hilda’s eyes, with their effect of wide, almost unseeing expansion, rested on his for a moment longer. She drew herself up, and a look of resolution, self-control, and fidelity hardened her young face. Odd still felt somewhat disconcerted, somewhat at a loss.
“I must go now; they don’t know that I am here.”
“They didn’t know that you were coming, I suppose?”
“No; they wouldn’t have let me come if I had told them before, but I will tell them now.”
“Well, we will tell them together.”
“Are you going to take me home?”