“Do you remember my theory of perfect happiness?”
“Yes,” said Miss Plumer, calmly, “I believe it was perfect love. But I think we had better talk of something else;” and she rose from her chair and stood by the table.
“Miss Plumer!”
“Mr. Newt.”
“It was you who first emboldened me.”
“I do not understand, Sir.”
“It was a long time ago, in my mother’s conservatory.”
Grace Plumer remembered the evening, and she replied, more softly,
“I am very sorry, Mr. Newt, that I behaved so foolishly: I was young. But I think we did each other no harm.”
“No harm, I trust, indeed, Miss Grace,” said Abel. “It is surely no harm to love; at least, not as I love you.”