Geoff answered only with his eyes. Evarne put out both hands and drew his head to her bosom, pressing it so tightly that he felt the throbbing of her heart against his cheek. After a minute the gentle whisper floated to his ears—
"I loved you yesterday. I love you to-day, and I shall love you to-morrow." After a little pause she added, "I'll tell you something more too."
"Nothing else seems to matter. Still, do tell me!"
"It's just a little nothing. Only this—that I cared for you before you ever cared for me."
"No, 'twas just contrariwise! It's no use to shake your perverse darling head. I can prove it."
"You mean you can try."
"Now, listen. Remember that I saw you before you ever saw me. You were reading the paper, but I was reading your face. I had loved you for at least three full minutes before you ever beheld me. How now?"
Evarne laughed happily.
"Yes, you have won after all. Do you know, I like so much to be told that your gaze was never coldly critical, or even indifferent to me."
"I can't imagine love that does not come at first sight," declared Geoff with enthusiasm. "Not in all its full force and power, naturally, but at least as an immediate conviction that here at length is the one who is to become dearest in the whole world. Yet one hears of people knowing each other for years before they learn to love. Isn't that so? What sort of feelings do you suppose fill the space of time between the first seeing and the first loving, when the two are not almost simultaneous? Just interest and liking?"