"Is she in love with me?" asked Margaret, with tender mockery. "Well, I think she may be. Perhaps I'm almost sure she is."
"Margaret," said Guy, seizing her hand. "I hope you'll be the happiest person in the world always. You know, don't you, that I'm dying for you to be happy?"
There may have been tears in her eyes as she responded with faintest pressure of her hand to his affection.
"And you won't forget all about me and take no more interest in what will seem my maddening indecision, when you and Pauline are happy?"
"My dear, as if I could!" he exclaimed.
"Lovers can forget very easily," said Margaret. "You see I've thought such a lot about being in love that I've got every one else's conduct clearly mapped out in my mind."
Guy stopped dead; and, as he stopped, the robin now far behind them ceased his song, and even the flute of the wind sounding on distant hollows and horizons cracked in the frost so that the stillness was sharp as ice itself.
"Margaret, what makes you think Pauline cares for me? How dare I be so fortunate?"
"Because you know you are fortunate," said Margaret, nor could falling snow have touched his arm more lightly than she. "Why do you suppose I told you about Richard if it was not because I thought you appreciated Pauline?"
"Ah, how I shall always love the snow," Guy exclaimed, grinding the slippery ball upon his heel to powder.