And she talked incessantly--a limpid, sparkling, joyous strain.

And either her hand sought his or his hers; at any rate, he found himself holding her hand.

They were almost there before he contrived to say, very falteringly: "You got my note ?" She laughed gayly.

"Oh, yes--and your own answer to it, Joshua--my love"-- the "my love" in a much lower, softer tone, with suggestion of sudden tears trembling to fall.
"But I meant it," he said, though in tones little like any he was used to hearing from his own lips.

But he would not dare look himself in the face again if he did not make at least a wriggle before surrendering.
"We mean many things in as many moods," said she.