Jane laughed.
“Now you know you’d love to have Martin sick so you could take care of him,” said Jane provokingly. “Don’t deny it.”
“Well, you would. But he isn’t sick, Mary. He’s just tired. I wouldn’t bother him about it if I was you. He hates bein’ fussed over.”
A sudden light of understanding had broken in on Jane’s soul.
It came like a revelation, in an intuitive flash, backed neither by evidence nor by logic. Had she tried to give a reason for the astonishing conviction that overwhelmed her, she could not have done so. Nevertheless she was as certain of it as she was that the night would follow the day. Martin was neither hungry, angry, tired, worried, nor ill.
He was in love!