"No," he continued, answering her expression. "I don't ignore. I
am glad because I have chosen to be glad, and because I have won
my content. There is a strenuous peace for those who can fight
their way through to it."

Suddenly, through the beauty of his color, the girl saw, graven
as with a fine tool upon his face, a story of grief mastered. In
the lines of chin and mouth and forehead it lurked there, half
hidden by his smile.

"Tell me," said Daphne impulsively. Her hand moved nearer on the
hedge, but she did not know it. He shook his head, and the veil
dropped again.

"Why tell?" he asked. "Isn't there present misery enough before
our eyes always, without remembering the old?"

She only gazed at him, with a puzzled frown on her forehead.

"So you think it is your duty to worry?" he asked, the joyous
note coming back into his voice.

Daphne broke into a smile.

"I suppose I do," she confessed. "And it's so hard here. I keep
forgetting."

"Why do you want to remember?"