"I knew you would," he said; "I knew you would—you're so sensible about things."
The smile flickered an instant brighter as she replied, with a little pout, "Oh, Jack, never call a girl 'sensible': it's as bad as calling her 'nice,' and that's like throwing a stone at her."
He laughed, a little stridently.
"Come here, dear; sit here and tell me all about it." She made room for him beside her and held the cushions against the wall till he sank among them.
"Is it your father, dear; did you tell him?" she asked quietly.
"No, it isn't," he blurted, frankly. "I wish to Heaven it were."
"So it's you; just yourself; oh, Jack!"
How grateful he was for that little note of gay mockery in her voice she never knew.
"Can't you tell me all about it?"
He did not answer at once.