"I have heard of blessings in disguise," he said significantly, when they were speeding forward again toward Marseilles.
"This is really better than that stuffy place we had," she answered, made happy, despite herself, by the meaning in his tones.
"If any one had told me that I should be to-day sitting beside you, rushing through the darkness headlong to the unknown, I would have counted it a fable."
"You are not rushing to the unknown. I cannot think of any one whose life and work are more clearly cut out for him or more sure of a happy ending."
"I—I suppose so," he said, with a sigh.
"You know it, Mr. Glynn."
"Has it come to Mr. Glynn?"
"Don't make things worse for me than they are," she exclaimed confusedly. She felt frightened that one moment of isolation with him had brought back into his voice the lover's cadence, after their months of blank separation, and their day just passed in renunciation and good behavior. The admission in her speech, the forlorn droop of her mouth, were too much for his strained resolution.
"Tell me one thing only, Helen—as if we two were standing on the verge of everlasting parting—have you cared?"
"When have I not cared?" she said impetuously.