'No,' he said at length, 'but you have changed.'
'Yes?'
'You're different. You used to be simple, almost shy. I used to think you very like a big white lily. Now you're like—like a big white orchid—an orchid in a vase of jade.'
'Poet! artist!' laughed Victoria. 'Ah, Jack, you'll always be the same. Always thinking me good and the world beautiful.'
'I'll always think you good and beautiful too.'
Victoria looked at him. He had hardly changed at all. His tall thin frame had not expanded, his hands were still beautifully white and seemed as aristocratic as ever. Perhaps his mouth appeared weaker, his eyes bluer, his face fairer owing to his black clothes.
'I'm glad to see you again, Kathleen Mavourneen,' she said at length.
'Why did you wait so long?' asked Holt. 'It was cruel, cruel. You know what I said—I would—'
'No, no,' interrupted Victoria fearing an avowal. 'I couldn't. I've been through the mill. Oh, Jack, it was awful. I've been cold, hungry, ill; I've worked ten hours a day—I've swabbed floors.'
A hot flush rose in Holt's fair cheeks.