"How did you know I was away?"
"You didn't write."
"I returned yesterday."
"Yesterday? You only read yesterday my letter written six months ago."
"We have so much to talk about, Evelyn, so much to learn from each other."
"The facts will appear one by one quite naturally. Tell me, weren't you surprised to hear I had left the convent? And tell me, weren't you a little disappointed?"
"Disappointed, my dear Evelyn? Should I have wired to you, and come down here if—. It seemed as if the time would never pass."
"I don't mean that you aren't glad to see me. I can see you are. But admit that you were disappointed that I hadn't succeeded—"
"I see what you mean. Well, I was disappointed that you were disappointed; I admit so much." And, walking up the sunny road, he wondered how it was that she had been able to guess what his thoughts were on reading her letter. After all, he was not such a brute as he had fancied himself, and her divination relieved his mind of the fear that he lacked natural feeling, since she had guessed that a certain feeling of disappointment was inevitable on hearing that she had not been able to follow the chosen path. But how clever of her! What insight!
"I hope you don't misunderstand. I cannot put into words the pleasure—."