Her own face had in the meanwhile grown brighter.
"It is all from within," he answered, "all from within. And—now presto!—it is gone."
Truly the problem did seem to vanish as he allowed himself to become conscious of the picture she made there in the sunshine. With her hair down her back she could have worn short dresses and passed for sixteen. The smooth white forehead, the exquisite velvet skin with the first bloom still upon it, the fragile pink ears were all of unfolding womanhood.
"Since my mother died," he said, "you are the first woman who has ever made me serious."
"Have you been such a recluse then?"
"Not from principle. I have been a sort of office hermit by necessity."
"You should not have allowed an office to imprison you," she scolded. "You should have gone out more."
"I have—lately."
"And has it not done you good?" she challenged, not realizing his narrow application of the statement.
"A world of good."