"You can wear a thick veil."
Clemency sobbed harder than ever. "Oh, no," she wailed, "I don't want to go so, in the dark, with a thick veil over my face, thinking every minute he may come. Oh, no, I don't want to go."
"You poor little soul," said James, and there was something in his voice which he himself had never heard before. Clemency glanced up at him quickly, and he saw as plainly as if he had been looking in a glass himself in her blue eyes. Instantly emotions of which he had dreamed, but never experienced, leaped up in his heart like flame. He knew that he loved Clemency. What he had felt for her mother had been passionless worship, giving all, and asking nothing. This was love which asked as well as gave. "Clemency," he began, and his voice was hoarse with emotion. She turned her head away, the tears were still on her cheeks, but they were very red, and her cheeks were dimpling involuntarily.
"Well?" she whispered.
"Do you care anything about—me?"
Clemency nodded, still keeping her face averted.
"That means—"
Clemency said nothing.
"That means you love me," James whispered.
Clemency nodded again. Then she turned her head slowly, and gave him a narrow blue glance, and smiled like a shy child.