The blush made him gasp. "You are more beautiful than ever. I had
forgotten that beauty is a physical fact. The sight of you confuses me."

"I always told you you were morbid." Moya's happy audacity returned. "Now,
how long are you going to sit and think about that?"

"Do I sit and think about things?" His reluctant, boyish smile, which all
women loved, captured his features for a moment. "It is very rude of me."

"Suppose I should ask you what you are thinking about?"

"Ah! I am afraid you would say 'morbid' again."

"Try me! You ought to let me know at once if you are going to break out in
any new form of morbidness."

"I wish it might amuse you, but it wouldn't. Let me put you a
case--seriously."

Moya smiled. "Once we were serious--ages ago. Do you remember?"

"Do I remember!"

"Well? You are you, and I am I, still."

"Yes; and as full of fateful surprises for each other."

"I bar 'fateful'! That word has the true taint of morbidness."