"It is the commonest mistake in the world. We are simple creatures, Grizel, and yearn to be loved for our face alone."
"But I do love the book," she said, when they became more serious, "because it is part of you."
"Rather that," he told her, "than that you should love me because I am part of it. But it is only a little part of me, Grizel; only the best part. It is Tommy on tiptoes. The other part, the part that does not deserve your love, is what needs it most."
"I am so glad!" she said eagerly. "I want to think you need me."
"How I need you!"
"Yes, I think you do—I am sure you do; and it makes me so happy."
"Ah," he said, "now I know why Grizel loves me." And perhaps he did know now. She loved to think that she was more to him than the new book, but was not always sure of it; and sometimes this saddened her, and again she decided that it was right and fitting. She would hasten to him to say that this saddened her. She would go just as impulsively to say that she thought it right.
Her discoveries about herself were many.
"What is it to-day?" he would say, smiling fondly at her. "I see it is something dreadful by your face."
"It is something that struck me suddenly when I was thinking of you, and I don't know whether to be glad or sorry."