"I know what you would teach them," she said slowly. "You would show them how to ignore suffering and pain. You would turn your back on need. Oh, that makes me think that I have forgotten to take your friend Antoli any soup lately! For three days I took it, and then, and then—I have been worried about things."
His smile was certainly one of amusement now.
"You must pardon me for seeming to change the subject," he said. "Why should you worry? There is nothing in life worth worrying about."
Fine scorn crept into the girl's face.
"No," he continued, answering her expression. "I don't ignore. I am glad because I have chosen to be glad, and because I have won my content. There is a strenuous peace for those who can fight their way through to it."
Suddenly, through the beauty of his color, the girl saw, graven as with a fine tool upon his face, a story of grief mastered. In the lines of chin and mouth and forehead it lurked there, half hidden by his smile.
"Tell me," said Daphne impulsively. Her hand moved nearer on the hedge, but she did not know it. He shook his head, and the veil dropped again.
"Why tell?" he asked. "Isn't there present misery enough before our eyes always, without remembering the old?"
She only gazed at him, with a puzzled frown on her forehead.
"So you think it is your duty to worry?" he asked, the joyous note coming back into his voice.