He said, clasping her arm tightly: "Yes, I went to Clanwell for coffee after prep."
She went on pathetically: "You sounded so happy—I heard you laughing. Oh, it was terrible to hear you laughing when I was miserable!"
"Poor little child!"—He bent down suddenly and kissed her eyes. "What a sad and forlorn little girl you are this morning!—Don't you guess why I'm so happy nowadays?"
"Why are you?"
He said, very slowly and beautifully: "Because of you. Because you have made my life utterly and wonderfully different. Because all the beauty in the world reminds me of you. When I wake up in the morning with the sun on my face I want to roar with laughter—I don't know why, except that I'm so happy."
She smiled gratefully and looked up into his face with large, tender eyes. "Sometimes," she said, "beauty makes me want to cry, not to laugh. Last night, in the garden, everything was so lovely, and yet so sad. Don't you think beautiful things are sad sometimes?"—She paused and went on, with less excitement: "When I went in, about ten o'clock, I was so miserable I went in the dining-room to be alone. I was crying and father came in."
"Well?" he whispered, eagerly.
"He wanted to know what was the matter."
"And you told him about Clare's father, I suppose?"
"No," she answered. "Don't be angry," she pleaded, laying a hand on his arm. "I don't know what made me do it—I suppose it was instinct. Anyway, you were going to, soon, even if I hadn't. I—I told father about—us!"