He spoke half-lightly, as if he were inclined to laugh with her at himself if she began to laugh.
But she said, gravely:
"Go on."
"I have a feeling to-night that out of this happiness of yours misery will be born."
"Yes? What sort of misery?"
"I don't know."
"Misery to myself or to the sharer of my happiness?"
"To you."
"That was why you spoke of the garden of paradise and the deadly swamp?"
"I think it must have been."