"This is what they mean," she murmured to herself. "This is what they mean." It was the joy past expression, the contentment past understanding. And all in one evening they had sprung up for her out of a barren thirsty land. Blent had never been beautiful before nor the river sparkled as it ran; youth was not known before, and beauty had been thrown away. The world was changed; and it was very wonderful.
When Cecily went into her the Imp was packing; with critical care she stowed her smartest frock in the trunk.
"I must be up early and see about the carriage," she remarked. "I dare say Mason——. But you're not listening, Cecily!"
"No, I wasn't listening," said Cecily, scorning apology or excuse.
"You people in love are very silly. That's the plain English of it," observed Mina loftily.
Cecily looked at her a minute, then stretched her arms and sighed in luxurious weariness. "I dare say that's the plain English of it," she admitted. "But, oh, how different it sounds before translation, dear!"