With a sudden pretty gesture—ah, so like her mother's!—she held the glove to his lips. "It is sad because you have forgotten it."
"I have kissed it so often, Grizel, long before I thought I should ever kiss you!"
She pressed it to her innocent breast at that. And had he really done so? and which was the first time, and the second, and the third? Oh, dear glove, you know so much, and your partner lies at home in a drawer knowing nothing. Grizel felt sorry for the other glove. She whispered to Tommy as a terrible thing, "I think I love this glove even more than I love you—just a tiny bit more." She could not part with it. "It told me before you did," she explained, begging him to give it back to her.
"If you knew what it was to me in those unhappy days, Grizel!"
"I want it to tell me," she whispered.
And did he really love her? Yes, she knew he did, but how could he?
"Oh, Grizel, how could I help it!"
He had to say it, for it is the best answer; but he said it with a sigh, for it sounded like a quotation.
But how could she love him? I think her reply disappointed him.
"Because you wanted me to," she said, with shining eyes. It is probably the commonest reason why women love, and perhaps it is the best; but his vanity was wounded—he had expected to hear that he was possessed of an irresistible power.