"Juan?" I asked. "Is Annunciata ill again?"
"No, no," he was clearly impatient and started from the room.
"Shall I have Norah save some dinner for you?" I asked, mechanically.
"Don't bother," he said, hesitated, and then, suddenly crossing the room in four strides, he was beside me. I felt his hand on my hair and stiffened under the unaccustomed touch. The hand dropped to his side.
"Don't think so badly of me, Mavis," he said, "even if you have been a 'charity patient'—do you know the Bible meaning of Charity?"
Before I could speak, he was gone. He had not changed for dinner, a real innovation, and was in riding things. I heard the ring of the little spurs he wore on the tiles, and the sound of a closing door.
"The Bible meaning of Charity?" But that was—that was—Love. What did he mean—a love-patient?
I sat, my hands under my chin, while Wing came and went with the untasted food. A love-patient?
Something terribly sweet and keen pierced my heart. It couldn't be. Love wasn't like that—cruel and wounding and hurting. Love "suffereth long and is kind." That was in the Bible too. "Love suffereth long and is kind—seeketh not its own—beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth."
The big tears ran down my cheeks. "Love never faileth."