He just listened to what I said, and his eyes grew deeper and darker and sadder, and they didn't rove around so much, after a time, but just stared fixedly at nothing, away out across the room.

By and by he stirred and drew a long sigh, and said, almost under his breath: "It was just such another night as this." And of course, I asked what was--and then I knew, almost before he had told me.
"That I first saw your mother, my dear." "Oh, yes, I know!" I cried, eager to tell him that I _did_ know.

"And she must have looked lovely in that perfectly beautiful blue silk dress all silver lace." He turned and stared at me.
"How did _you_ know that ?" he demanded.
"I saw it." "You saw it!" "Yesterday, yes--the dress," I nodded.
"But how _could_ you ?" he asked, frowning, and looking so surprised.
"Why, that dress must be--seventeen years old, or more." I nodded again, and I suppose I did look pleased: it's such fun to have a secret, you know, and watch folks guess and wonder.

And I kept him guessing and wondering for quite a while.

Then, of course, I told him that it was upstairs in Grandfather's trunk-room; that Mother had got it out, and I saw it.
"But, what--was your mother doing with that dress ?" he asked then, looking even more puzzled and mystified.
And then suddenly I thought and remembered that Mother was crying.
And, of course, she wouldn't want Father to know she was crying over it--that dress she had worn when he first met her long ago! (I don't think women ever want men to know such things, do you?
I know I shouldn't!) So I didn't tell.