"And then wake up," he continued, disregarding the interruption, "and find that the dream was only a dream, after all,—that he's only a poor dog of a politician, that the garden is only a dingy office, and the flower-beds full of briers and pitfalls?"
"You've been eating pie for lunch again," said Natalie severely, "and it always makes you morbid. No; I don't think it possible at all. If I did, I should hang on to your coattails like fury and keep you in dreamland, whether you wanted to wake up or not."
"It's all too good to be true! How dare you be so beautiful?"
"John"—
"It's gospel truth!"
Barclay paused for a moment, and then went on more seriously.
"You're tired, littlest and most lovely in the world, and troubled about something."
Natalie laughed shortly, with evident effort.
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Why not? Don't you suppose I know? Do you think you could say a hundred words without my perceiving that? It almost seems to me that the knowledge that you were unhappy would make its way to me, no matter what distance separated us, and that I should come to you at top-speed to set things right. I've hardly seen your face, and yet I know your dear, deep eyes are troubled; I had barely heard your voice before I felt its weariness."