There are tones, there are glances, there are
half-veiled allusions, there are--in a dog-cart, especially when it
jolts--thrilling contacts of arm and arm. There is man's undisguised
tribute to beauty; there is beauty's keen feminine appreciation of the
tribute. There is a manner of saying "we" which counts for more than the
casual conjunction of the personalities.
"This is _our_ day, Viviette," said Austin. "I shall always remember
it."
"So shall I. We must put a white mark against it in our diaries."
"With white ink?"
"Of course. Black would never do, nor red, nor violet."
"But where shall we get it?"
"I'll make us some when I get home out of white cloud and lilies and
sunshine and a bit of the blue sky."
Laughter fluttered through her veins. Yesterday she had teasingly
boasted to Katherine that Austin was in love with her. Now she knew it.
He proclaimed it in a thousand ways. A note of exultation in his laugh,
like that in a blackbird's call, alone proclaimed it. Instinct told her
of harmless words she might use which would bring the plain avowal.
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