“You do not seem so glad as I thought you would be,” he said, with something of reproach in his voice.
“Some joys are too intense for speech. The scene this morning and your burning message went too deep for words.”
“I understand,” he said softly.
“I wonder if you do?” she asked, dropping her eyes.
“Yes, and I have come to the hardest task of my life, one of the bitterest and one of the sweetest,” he said, with deliberation.
She glanced at him quickly and began to tremble.
“Not another hour must pass without a confession to you.”
He moved across the room and sat down as if by an effort to put distance between them.
“What is it?” she asked, colouring.
He was silent a moment and then said with low, deliberate tenderness: