I always liked it, and--" "No,--never mind about my gown; I would rather you did not like anything about me than misunderstand me!" The tears were just under the lids;--one more thrust like the last and they would be streaming down her cheeks.
"But I haven't misunderstood you." He saw the lips quiver, but it was anger, he thought, that caused it.
"Yes, you have!"-- a great lump had risen in her throat.

"You have done a brave, noble act,--everybody says so; you carried my dear father out on your back when there was not but one chance in a thousand you would ever get out alive; you lay in a faint for hours and once they gave you up for dead; then you thought enough of Uncle Peter and all of us to get that telegram sent so we wouldn't be terrified to death and then at the risk of your life you met us at the station and have been in bed ever since, and yet I am to sit still and not say a word!" It was all she could do to control herself.

"I do feel grateful to you and I always shall feel grateful to you as long as I live.

And now will you take my hand and tell me you are sorry, and let me say it all over again, and with my whole heart?
for that's the way I mean it." She was facing him now, her hand held out, her head thrown back, her dark eyes flashing, her bosom heaving.

Slowly and reverently, as a devotee would kiss the robe of a passing priest, Jack bent his head and touched her fingers with his lips.
Then, raising his eyes to hers, he asked, "And is that all, Miss Ruth?
Isn't there something more ?" Not once had she mentioned his own safety--not once had she been glad over him--"Something more ?" he repeated, an ineffable tenderness in his tones--"something--it isn't all, is it ?" "Why, how can I say anything more ?" she murmured in a lowered voice, withdrawing her hand as the sound of a step in the hall reached her ear.
The door swung wide: "Well, what are you two young people quarrelling about ?" came a soft, purring voice.
"We weren't quarrelling, Aunty.