“My darling!” he cried, “did you care?”
She looked at him, frightened at his words, yet wondering he should ask.
“Care? Yes.”
“I love you, Jocelyn, I love you! My God! What am I saying?”
He bent his head down to the level of her hands; one of them stole up and smoothed his hair with a little shrinking caress. When he looked again, her eyes were soft and wet, and he knew somehow that she had been glad.
He was nearly choked by the joy that leaped in his heart, but the tears in her eyes helped him to a mastery of himself.
“Dear,” he said, “I am sorry, I couldn’t help it! Forget it—forgive me, I couldn’t help it—you are so sweet and lovely—so sweet and lovely—after all, you knew it long ago.”
He spoke in short, broken sentences, catching his breath with gasps.
She smiled at him softly and sadly, and for one moment he caught, as in a revelation, the love-light in her eyes. Her lips still trembled; with her hands she brushed the dust mechanically from his clothes.
She looked swiftly up at him.