BOOK TWO—THE AGE OF REASON
CHAPTER I
The Regrettable Dementia of a Convalescent
"You know you please me—really you do!"
Allan, perfect youth of the hazel eyes and tawny locks, bent upon inquiring Nancy a look of wholly pleasant reassurance, as one wishful to persuade her from doubt.
"I'm not joking a bit. When I say you please me, I mean it."
His look became rather more expansive with a smile that seemed meant to sympathise guardedly with her in her necessary rejoicing.
Meekly, for a long second, Nancy drew the black curtains of her eyes, murmuring from out the friendly gloom:
"It's very good of you, Allan!"