“I wish so, too,” she answered simply, seating herself on the arm of his chair as though it were a side-saddle.
They sat there very silent for a few moments, curiously oblivious to the chance curiosity of any one who might enter or pass.
“Would she—care for me—do you think?” asked the girl in a low voice.
“I think so,—for your real self.”
“I know. She could only feel contempt for me—as I am.”
“She is old-fashioned,” he said reverently.
“That means all that is best in a woman.... The old fashion of truth and faith; the old fashion of honour, and faith in honour; the old, old fashion of—love.... All that is best, Stephen; all that is worth the love of a man.... Some day somebody will revive those fashions.”
“Will you?”
“Dear, they would not become me,” she said, the tenderness in her eyes deepening a little; and she touched his head lightly in humourous caress.
“What shall we do with the waning daylight?” she asked. “It is my last day with you. I told Howard it was my last day with you, and I did not care to be disturbed.”