We were such young, foolish things.
Oh, David, you don't know how I have worked and planned and striven to
make myself what you would like, if you were ever to come to see me
again. I--"
"You are perfect--you are divine!" he cried, all the passion of his
soul ringing in the tender words. "I can't believe it! You really
care, Christine? You have not changed? It has always been the same
with you?"
"Changed, David," she whispered, her lip trembling, a sudden mist
swimming in her sweet young eyes. "Changed?"
"You _do_ love me? I am not dreaming? It is really _you?_"
She suddenly lowered her eyes, the warm flush spreading to her throat,
her neck, her ears. She caught her breath in a half-sob.
[Illustration: Her lips parted in amazement, tremulously struggling
into a smile of wonder and unbelief]
Both had forgotten the tall woman who stood over there by the window,
her hands clasped, her heart in the eyes that looked upon them. They
did not see the beatific smile that came to her colorless lips. Nor
were they aware of the fact that she turned away, to gently draw aside
the curtain that she might look out, unseeing, upon the gloom of the
night beyond.
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