He uttered a weird little sound. It was part exclamation, and a bit of a laugh, cut short by something like a nervous sob, which did not know what to do with itself.
“Oh!” he said. And then, “Oh!” again. And then “I—I don’t know—what it’s—like!” And he cleared his throat and stared, and Meg saw his narrow chest heave up and down.
“It isn’t like anything, but—but something we’ve dreamed of, perhaps,” said Meg, gazing in ecstasy with him.
“No—no!” answered Ben. “But I’ve never dreamed like it.”
Meg put her hand on his shoulder.
“But you will now,” she said. “You will now.”
And their man had been near enough to hear, and he came to them.
“Good morning,” he said. “You’re having another day of it, I see.”
Meg and Robin looked up at him, radiant. They were both in good enough mood to make friends. They felt friends with everybody.
“Good morning,” they answered; and Robin added, “We’re going to come every day as long as we can make our money last.”