"Oh, I'm all right," he replied, "only——"
"Only what? Do tell me."
"I don't want to revert to that terrible tragedy again," he said, after a pause. "There is something, however, in connection with it which surprises myself."
"What is that?"
"I don't seem to feel the horror of it. I feel everything else; your sorrow, for instance—the beauty of the day—the gladness and fulness of life, but I don't feel any special pang about that poor dead fellow. It's queer, is it not?"
"No," said Margaret tenderly. "I know—I quite understand your sensation. You don't feel it simply because you feel it too much—you are slightly stunned."
"Yes, you're right—we'll not talk about it any more. Let us stay here for a little while."
"Tell me over again the preparations for your coming of age."
Margaret seated herself on the grass as she spoke. Her white dress—her slim young figure—a sort of spiritual light in her dark eyes, gave her at that moment an unearthly radiance in the eyes of the man who loved her. All of a sudden, with an impulse he could not withstand, he resolved to put his fortunes to the test.
"Forgive me," he said, emotion trembling in his voice—"I can only speak of one thing at this moment."