His eyes, too, were alight with it and his soul surged to his lips.
"Yes, God," he said. "And that's what love is. Rather—rather big, isn't it?"
And then for the first time, Nadine understood. She did not feel, but she was able to understand.
"Oh, Hughie," she said, "how splendid it must be to feel like that!"
The section of the party which had gone to play golf on this changeable morning, were blown home a few minutes later, and they all met at lunch. Edith Arbuthnot had arrived before any of them got back, and asked if the world had been blown away. As it had not, she expressed herself ready to chaperone anybody.
"And Berts is happy too," said Seymour, when he came in very late for lunch, since he wished to change all his clothes first, as they 'smelled of wind,' "because Berts has at last driven a ball two hundred yards. Don't let us mention the subject of golf. It would be tactless. There was no wind when he accomplished that remarkable feat, at least not more wind than there is now. What there was was behind him, and he topped his ball heavily. I said 'Good shot.' But I have tact. Since I have tact, I don't say to Nadine that it was a good day to sit out on the hillside and read. I would scorn the suggestion."
A sudden sound as of drums on the window interrupted this tactful speech, and the panes streamed.
"Anyhow I shall play golf," said Edith. "What does a little rain matter? I'm not made of paper."