"I am not hurt," he said quite slowly. "I am madly happy."
Then she understood. She was as ignorant of many things as she was bitterly wise in others, but she had not been blind and she understood quite clearly. She sat down upon a low seat, from which she could see him, her hands clasped on her knee.
"I knew," she said at last, "that it would come some day—I knew that it would."
"Did you?" he answered in the same dreamy way. "I did not. I did not even hope for it. I do not comprehend it even now."
"I do," she returned, "quite well."
He scarcely seemed to hear her.
"I hoped for nothing," he said. "And now—I am madly happy."
There was nothing more for her to say. She had a fancy that perhaps in the morning he would have forgotten that he had spoken. It seemed as if even yet he was hardly conscious of her presence. But before she went away she asked him a question.
"Where did you put the model?"
He gave a feverish start.