"Are we—mad?" she gasped. "What have we done?"
"There's no use fighting. It was here—it was bound to come out. Oh,
Alaire—!"
"Don't!" She shook her head, and, avoiding his outstretched hands, went to the edge of the veranda and leaned weakly against a pillar, with her head in the crook of her arm. Dave followed her, but the words he spoke were scarcely intelligible.
Finally she raised her face to his: "No! It is useless to deny it—now that we know. But I didn't know, until a moment ago."
"I've known, all the time—ever since the first moment I saw you," he told her, hoarsely. "To me you're all there is; nothing else matters. And you love me! God! I wonder if I'm awake."
"Dream-man," she repeated, more slowly. "Oh, why did you come so late?"
"So late?"
"Yes. We must think it out, the best way we can, I—wonder what you think of me?"
"You must know. There's no need for excuses; there's nothing to explain, except the miracle that such great happiness could come to a fellow like me."
"Happiness? It means anything but that. I was miserable enough before, what shall I do now?"