"Tell me what it meant," he said, "—your face."
"I've told you," she replied, with serious eyes.
"I saw it. It must have meant a great deal more than your words, or a great deal less than it looked. If you were taking a cheap pleasure in being charitable, your face is a liar, Amaryllis. If you find great happiness in being loved, you are."
She ignored the accusation, merely answering:
"I might."
But she was still so serious that Dick could not speak.
"It wasn't exactly that, though," she explained. "I want to be as truthful as my face—if you could read it right."
"Tell me, then."
"It was my half, I think, that made me so awfully contented."
"Your half? That means—if you mean anything at all—you mean, your half was loving me?"