“Happened? Nothing at all. Only I am well, and happy, and the sun shines; isn’t that enough to put one in good spirits?”
“Happy?” he repeated, rather bitterly.
“Did you wish me to be miserable?” she exclaimed merrily. “It is you who make my happiness; why don’t you keep some for yourself?”
“There you mistake. I have nothing whatever to do with it.”
“No, the mistake is yours, Bernard. I tell you the truth, but you will not, will not believe me. I can’t help it; I only know that you will believe me some day. Time will be on my side.”
He sat mute and downcast.
“Oh, why do you take life so hard?” she asked him. “It is full of good things to make the time pass, if you will only see them. Tell me now, what have you been doing since I saw you?”
“Nothing—waiting to hear from you.”
“Ah, that is not true! Who was it that went to Chelsea on Sunday, and made himself very agreeable indeed, charmingly agreeable, so that young ladies speak most flatteringly of him? I know, you see. Indeed I was just a little jealous, or should have been, if jealousy were not such a foolish thing.”
“That I don’t think you would ever feel.”