"I wonder if you realize how much he cares!"
"For—you?" asked Brian quietly. "Yes."
"No, no," said Joan, coloring. "For you. For you he has worked through splendidly to—to less of self. And so has Don. It's a wonderful tribute, Brian. To inspire something fine and beautiful is fine and beautiful itself."
Brian stared uncomfortably at a red barn in the valley.
"To have something dormant inside that catches fire and burns up splendidly into unselfishness is better," he said. "This porch is like a throne. One sits up here among the honeysuckles and finds a world of summer at his feet."
"Last summer," remembered Joan, "Kenny used to tell me over and over again that you were all things in one. All, Brian. Think of it! Almost," she finished demurely, "I came to believe it."
Brian glanced at her in droll suspicion. Her eyes laughed at him with the wholesome mischief of a child.
"Almost!" he countered. "I insist upon my full meed of perfection. When did I lose it?"
"When you hounded the nurse—"
"Plural noun," amended Brian wryly.