“I—I mean that I love you.”
It was out at last. No “honey-tongued Anacreon” could have said more to express his meaning. She sat across the table from him. She had taken one hand from her cheek and was pressing it against her heart. Her eyes were downcast. Her face was flushed with excitement. Between her half-parted lips her white teeth shone. Her labored respiration was manifest even to Barry’s untutored eyes. If Stephen Lamar had seen her in that moment and in that mood his impetuosity would have leaped its bounds. Barry was indeed fascinated but he was not propelled.
She lifted her eyes slowly to his.
“You—love me?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Bradley.”
It seemed a full minute that she sat there looking at him. Finally she said:
“Do you know what love is?”
And he replied:
“Why, certainly! I’m in it.”