"I would not have another laugh at you, as I do!" she cried.
He looked at her, and the mask of grave melancholy which was fast becoming his natural expression began to soften, as if it could not last forever.
"I have often thought of you and wondered whether you would think well of my deeds," he said.
"You see!" she laughed. "And now because I am proud of you, you pretend that you have done nothing! That is poor praise of my good sight and judgment."
He laughed, too. Since the dawn of time, women have retorted thus upon brave men too modest of their doings; and since the first woman found the trick, it has never failed to please man. But love needs not novelty, for he himself is always young; the stars of night are not less fair in our eyes because men knew the 'sweet influence of the Pleiades' in Job's day, nor is the scent of new-mown hay less delicate because all men love it. The old is the best, even in love, which is young.
"Say what you will," answered Gilbert, presently, "we are together to-day."
"And nothing else matters," said Beatrix. "Not even that it is two months since I have seen you, and that I have been ill, or, at least, half crippled, by that fall. It is all forgotten."
He looked at her, not quite understanding, for as she spoke her eyebrows were raised a little, with her own expression, half sad, half laughing at herself.
"I wish I could see you more often," answered Gilbert.
Her little birdlike laugh disconcerted him.