They pretended to eat a great deal, but it was only a pretense, and when the landlady had removed the last dish in offended silence Chris drew Marie Celeste down into his arms in the big chair.
He passed his hand over her face and hair and soft neck.
"I can't believe you're real," he said huskily. "How long are you going to keep me in my fool's paradise before you disappear again, Marie Celeste?" She raised herself and looked at him with mournful eyes.
"I couldn't come before," she answered "I had to be sure first."
"Sure—of me?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No; of myself."
The dark flush of pain swept across his face.
"You mean—that you had to be sure whether you . . . you still cared for me at all."
She looked away from him.