We are reasonable. You think
not, because this has all happened so suddenly; but great things do
happen suddenly. We love each other. That's all I wanted to tell you."
"Love!" Adelaide looked at the little person before her, tried to recall
the fading image of the young man, and then thought of the dominating
figure in her own life. "My dear, you have no idea what love is."
She took no notice of the queer, steady look the girl gave her in return.
She went down-stairs. She had been gone more than an hour, and she knew
that Vincent would have been long since asleep. He had, and prided
himself on having, a great capacity for sleep. She tiptoed past his door,
stole into her own room, and then, glancing in the direction of his, was
startled to see that a light was burning. She went in; he was reading,
and once again, as his eyes turned toward her, she thought she saw the
same tragic appeal that she had felt that afternoon in his kiss.
Trembling, she threw herself down beside him, clasping him to her.
"O Vincent! oh, my dear!" she whispered, and began to cry. He did not ask
her why she was crying; she wished that he would; his silence admitted
that he knew of some adequate reason.
"I feel that there is something wrong," she sobbed, "something
terribly wrong."
"Nothing could go wrong between you and me, my darling," he answered. His
tone comforted, his touch was a comfort. Perhaps she was a coward, she
said to herself, but she questioned him no further.
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