She knows what has
undoubtedly happened the moment the door was shut--and a little twinge of
something very like the taste of sour grapes goes through her as she thinks
of those two young people so reprehensibly glad at being even for the
moment in each other's arms.
XV
An hour later and still the grand news hasn't been told. In fact very
little that Mrs. Ellicott would regard as either sensible or reasonable has
happened at all. Though they do not know it the conversation has been oddly
like that of two dried desert-travellers who have suddenly come upon water
and for quite a while afterwards find it hard to think of anything else.
But finally:
"Dearest, dearest, what was the grand news?" says Oliver half-drowsily. "We
must talk it over, dear, I suppose, I guess, oh, we must--oh, but you're so
sweet--" and he relapses again into speechlessness.
They are close together, he and she now. Their lips meet--and meet--with a
sweet touch--with a long pressure--children being good to each other--cloud
mingling with gleaming cloud.
"Ollie dear." Nancy's voice comes from somewhere as far away and still as
if she were talking out of a star.
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