“Poor things,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “How could either of you help it?”
“Why is it that all the nice men are married?” inquired Nora.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Nora,” said Jack in a pained voice.
“I mean—why—I'm afraid I can't fix that up, can I?” she said, appealing to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Certainly you can. What you really mean is, why do all married men become so nice?” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Oh, thank you, the answer is so obvious. Do you know, I feel wild to-day.”
“And so do I,” replied Kathleen, suddenly waking to life. “It is the wonderful air, or the motor, perhaps.”
“Me, too,” exclaimed Jack Romayne, looking straight at her, “only with me it is not the air, nor the motor.”
“What then!” said Kathleen with a swift, shy look at him.
“'The heart knoweth its own bitterness and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.'”