“But when you have lost some one you love.”
“Of course—I suppose love only seems so important in our own lives because we know what it has meant to some, and so hope it may mean the same to us.”
“Does it seem so important?” she asked, the colour coming into her cheeks.
“Doesn't it?” he asked quietly.
“Really I don't know, I had never thought of it—in that way.”
“It's a part of what we call success in life; it may be the better part—it should be, Harriett.” His voice dwelt lingeringly and caressingly on her name.
She gave him a frightened, embarrassed glance. It was the first time he had ever called her anything else than Miss Walsh. She hoped all at once that her mother or Virginia would come into the room; but she knew they were busy elsewhere and would not appear until tea was served.
“Don't you think that?” he asked.
“I don't know. I have never thought of it,” she said faintly.
“I wish you'd think of it now,” he insisted.