“See how brave he is, for a little fellow,” she said, still blushing.
“Yes, very brave. But you are a woman of great courage. You gave some of it to that boy.”
Throckmorton was no laggard in love. He lost not a moment. He, who was by nature reticent, became, under the influence of the master-passion, bold and ready of speech. Judith, who was by nature of a sweet and humorous talkativeness, became eloquently silent—her heart seemed to melt into an ineffable softness and yielding. She said one thing, though, as they turned to walk home through the delicious purple twilight:
“I think men can love more than once; but I don’t think women can love but once.”
Throckmorton perfectly understood her.
When they walked together across the lawn, under the gnarled locusts and poplars, they saw General and Mrs. Temple standing on the steps of the old house, with little Beverley between them. Throckmorton watched Judith jealously to see if there was anything like shame or apology in her look; but she, who could not look him in the face when they were alone in their secret paradise, now held her head up proudly. Nobody could have told, from Throckmorton’s quiet self-possession, that anything unusual had occurred; but never before had he known anything like the deep delight that now enthralled him.