"It's—it's Dick," she said, and broke down.
"Dick?" he responded. "Of course it's Dick—and Dick it is going to be; Dick for breakfast, Dick for lunch, and Dick for dinner."
"Yes," said Amaryllis, tears running at last, but voice steady. "Dick for ever, I think. It feels like that, Randal dear."
"If it depends on him it will be," said Dick's brother.
"If it depends on me, it shall be," answered the girl.
"Then what's the dear silly child crying for?" he asked.
"I—I don't know," she replied weakly.
"That's a dear silly little lie—you know as well as I do. Although you've been perfectly honest with me, you have a dear silly feeling that the things which have happened so suddenly have been unfair to me. When I spoke to you last, my dear, you were surer than ever that you'd never want me. You didn't know why you were surer than ever—because you were afraid to look and see. Young women all, I suppose, have a moment when they won't look into that dear silly cupboard. But I looked at the blind door of it, and I—well, I guessed what was inside."
The tears would not stop. There was no sobbing nor convulsion of throat or breath. They just ran out in tribute to the man's goodness.
But Randal explained them with a difference.