"Oh, they are large enough. But they do not tell the truth."
"What should they tell?"
"My love, Geraldine."
She did not answer. I passed my arm round her waist.
"Do you see what I mean?"
She raised her eyes to my face. I searched them; they were calm, and pensive and soft, but radiant too, with a light that was new to them.
"I understand," she whispered.
I led her to a chair and knelt by her that I might see her face, holding her hand in both mine.
"Geraldine, you knew that I loved you?"