"The 'cycle of Cathay' wasn't enough to cure you?"
He turned quickly, but didn't smile. "I think there was always some distance between us, that we were never equal, a difference like that between Clarendon and the chestnut. Only you were always above me, and it was the better, the right way. Beth——"
She looked up.
"Is there any reason why I shouldn't tell you how great you are to me—just that—asking nothing?"
"We are both grown-ups," she answered readily. "You won't mind if I find it rather hard to believe—I mean, my greatness. You like my riding and the portrait——"
"I can judge your riding. As for the picture, it is an inspiration, though I cannot judge that so well. But it is not those——"
"And what then, pray?"
"Beth Truba."
"A tired old artist whom nobody knows—really."
"I wish you wouldn't say that," he declared earnestly. "There is nothing alive this moment, nothing in the great sun's light, that has put on such a glory of maturity. Why, you are concentrated sunlight—to me!"