There was a lilt in his voice. He was thinking how she had said she wanted to be with somebody who "belonged." Then in her soul she felt that he belonged after all.
Marguerite let the tears have their way for a minute or two, and then she sobbed out softly:
"But you don't know what it's all about. I—ought—to—explain."
"Explain, nothing!" said Nelson comfortingly. "I know all about it."
"Oh! How did you know?" she asked with a perplexed frown, "Did mother tell you?"
"Never a word," said the young man taking out a big white handkerchief that smelled of clover in summer, and unfolding it. "Can't you give me credit for having eyes? When you love somebody, you understand."
He lifted the girl's hot tear-wet face and gently wiped it with the cool handkerchief.
She felt as if she were a little girl being comforted.
"Oh, Nelson, you've always been wonderful! And—I—But you won't feel that way about me any more when you know everything. I've been—so—silly—! And wicked, Nelson! I've been terribly wicked. Oh—" she shuddered,—"to think that I—should have got into an awful mess like that! Oh, I can't ever stand myself again! How can I live? To think—"
"See here, Marguerite, you're not to think anything about it now. You are just to rest, and get over the shock. And by and bye when you are rested, we'll talk it all out."