"You hardened optimist!" He lay on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, and looked up at the tall, slight figure of the girl. "You're actually ready to pit yourself against the laws of the universe, and expect not to suffer for it. Do you know that your invincible belief that you, at least, were meant to be happy, is the most pathetic thing I've found in the world?"
"I'm not in the very least pathetic," she said, with deep indignation.
"Shouldn't wonder if it would be always like that with you," he went on, unmoved. "Stark inability to comprehend personal misfortune! Ruin will rattle about your ears—you'll believe blindly it's somehow for the best. How like life's diabolical ingenuity that just the man I am should have come across just the girl you are!"
"Thank you, most particularly. Life and I are both obliged."
"Of course, you've read that last will and testament—the one your father wrote—"
"No; haven't asked for it. Grandma hasn't mentioned it."
"Ah! She probably would if she knew—"
"You may be sure," Val interrupted, "my father doesn't think those hideous black thoughts now."
"Ah, yes, I'm sure enough of that."
"You are?"