Roger gave her a look that dazzled her. “I see you understand,” said he. “Well, we may be happy in spite of all—all the difficulties.”
She laughed. “I don’t think, dear,” said she, “that you’re so weak as you fear, or I so foolish.... Maybe you’d like me to keep on with the dressmaking?”
He frowned in mock severity. “I don’t want ever to hear of it again.”
“Then you never shall,” replied she with mock humility. “You want a meek slave—and you shall have one.” Her lips moved with no sound issuing.
“What are you saying there?” demanded he.
“What Ruth said to Naomi.” She gazed at him with ecstatic, incredulous eyes. “Have I really got you?” she said.
He looked at her with an amused smile. It died away slowly, and his gaze grew solemn. “That will depend on—you,” he said.
She saw there was more than the surface meaning in the words; then she saw their deeper meaning—saw as clearly as an inexperienced girl may see, but only so clearly, the hidden reality of the man she had been striving to win, and would ever have to strive to keep. And beautiful was the light in her eyes as she murmured: “Love will teach me!”
He half turned away to hide the wave of emotion that almost unmanned him. When he spoke it was to say in a queer, husky voice: “Let me see the expressman about this luggage—then—we’ll go to lunch somewhere.”
“Let’s go—in—” She halted, eyes dancing.