"I saw you came about something. You hadn't the loose-endy sort of a look you generally have."
"What sort of a look had I?"
Fay shrugged her shoulders airily. "Oh, a 'life-is-real, life-is-earnest,' and 'England-expects-every-man-this-day-to-do-his-duty' sort of look. But don't mind my mentioning it. It was rather a becoming look, as a matter of fact, and nothing for you to worry about."
I took the little hand that was lying over the edge of the sofa. "Fay, do you know what I came to say?" I said softly.
"Yes; but all the same, I'd rather you said it. I shan't take it as read."
"It is so hard for me to put into words."
"But so nice for me to hear the words into which it is put."
"You vain child!" I whispered, stroking her curly hair.
The lovely eyes lifted to mine were full of laughter. But there was something in them behind the laughter—that something which for weeks and weeks I had been trying so hard not to see. "If I'm vain, you are idle; so one is as bad as the other."
There were a few seconds of silence, then Fay said: "Go on, I'm waiting."