"It could not be otherwise," he said pleasantly; but his grey eyes never left the pale, sweet profile bent above the leisurely moving needle.
"I understand."
"I know you understand that—at least, Karen."
"Yes. Other matters, too—a little better than I did—this morning."
"What matters?" he asked casually. But his heart was threatening to meddle with his voice; and he set his lips sternly and touched his short mustache with careless fingers.
Karen bent still lower over her sewing. The light was perfectly good, however.
"What," he asked again, "are the matters which you now understand better than you did this morning?"
"Matters—concerning—love."
He laughed: "Do you think you understand love?"
"A little better than I did."