“I’m glad,” she said.
“I don’t know quite what you mean. Why are you glad?”
“From that first day I knew you were—somebody. Can’t I be glad to learn I was right?”
He read the clipping, and as his eyes moved down the column there came over his face a touch of the sardonic bitterness she knew of old.
“I deserve a cross, don’t I?”
“Two of them!” she cried impetuously.
He looked into her ardent, generous eyes. “Oh, half a dozen,” he mocked.
But she noticed the mordant flash was gone. What she did not know was that her faith had exorcised it.
“Two,” the girl insisted, an underlying flush of color in the dark cheeks. “One for this.” She touched the paper he was holding.
“And the other?” he asked, not yet caught up with her leaping thought.