"Oh!" said G. G. "You don't suspect me of having purloined—" His voice broke.
"We're only kids," said Cynthia.
"Yes," said he; "but you're the dearest kid!"
"Since you've taken my heart," said she, "you'll not want to give it back, will you? I think that would break it."
"I oughtn't to have taken it!" said G. G.
And then on his face she saw the first shadow that ever he had let her see of doubt and of misgiving.
"Listen!" he said. "My darling! I think that I shall get well.... I think that, once I am well, I shall be able to work very hard. I have nothing. I love you so that I think even angels don't want to do right more than I do. Is that anything to offer? Not very much."
"Nobody in all the world," said she, "will ever have the chance to offer me anything else—just because I'm a kid doesn't mean that I don't know the look of forever when I see it."
"Is it really forever?" he said. "For you too?"
"For me—surely!"