"It's a wonderful thing to see in you sometimes," he laughed. "Why, this morning, for instance, you—you seemed to be on fire with it. And for no particular reason—except, I suppose, that it was a fine day."
She smiled again as she listened, but now rather ruefully. "For no particular reason!" She could not help smiling at that. "Well, I hope I didn't scorch anybody with my fire," she said.
"You made us all madly in love with you, of course."
She gave him a little touch on the arm. "Never mind the others. You mustn't be that, Cousin Arthur."
He turned to her in honest seriousness. "As long as you'll be to me just what you are now, there's nothing to worry about. I'm perfectly content."
"But suppose I should—change?"
"I shan't suppose anything of the sort," he interrupted half-angrily. "Why should you say that?"
Her heart failed her; she could not give him further warning. Words would not come to her significant enough without being blunt and plain; that again she neither could nor would be. Something of her malice revived in her; if he could not see, he must remain blind—till the flash of the tempest smote light even into his eyes. It must be so. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders.
"A mood, I suppose! Just as I had a mood this morning—and, as you say, for no particular reason!"