‘My dear Madeline,’ he said at last, ‘I have been thinking about you all day long. That, of course, is nothing unusual, for I need not tell you that you are ever uppermost in my thoughts; but to-day I have been much troubled on your account.’
She started and looked at him. What did he mean? His face was curiously grave, and in his eyes there was the shadow of a great and wistful pain.
‘I am sorry you have been troubled,’ she said in a low sad voice, ‘and that I have been the cause.’
‘Nay, my dear, it is no fault of yours; but the truth is I am very anxious. Sometimes of late—not always, but sometimes—I have thought that you are a little disappointed, a little weary. All my wish, all the dream of my life, is to see you happy; and yet——’
He paused, and passed his hand across his eyes; for tears were there.
‘Do not think I am unhappy,’ she replied. ‘I am not. I am happier than I deserve.’
‘This is a dull house, I know,’ continued Forster, as if pursuing his own thoughts, ‘and Margaret, I am afraid, a somewhat dull companion. It is not at all the life which you have been accustomed to, and I do not wonder that you find it dull. Well, how shall we brighten it?’ Here his face was lit by a loving smile. ‘How shall I make my darling happy? I think I have discovered the way. Indeed, if I had not been a commonplace fool, I might have discovered it long before.’
Still more puzzled than ever, she kept her eyes fixed upon his face; then seeing him smile so brightly, so kindly, she drew near to him and kissed him.
‘Don’t cry, my darling!’
‘I can’t help it—you are so good to me!’