He bent very low, so that his dark face was wholly hidden from her. "I've never been—really happy—since the day I lost you," he said.
Her hands clasped his very tightly. There was a brief silence before—with a touch of shyness—she spoke again. "You have never been—really happy—all your life. You don't know the meaning of the word—yet."
"Don't I?" He stood up, still holding her hands. "I thought I'd sampled everything."
"No," she said. "No. There is—one thing left."
"What is that?" he said.
She stood again in silence, looking at him. Then, slowly, "You have never yet touched the joy of loving someone better—far better—than you love yourself," she said. "I think that is the greatest joy that God can send."
He bent towards her with a certain eagerness. "Maud, I could have loved you like that—once."
She shook her head and her smile was sad. "No, my dear, believe me! I couldn't have inspired it in you. I was too selfish myself in those days. Some other woman will teach you that now."
"I wonder," said Charles Rex, half-mocking and half-touched.
She slipped her hand through his arm, turning from the subject with a faint sigh. "Well, come and see the baby! He's very lovely."