you know--the sight of you doesn't unman me as much as these fond tears
might make you suspect. I shall feel that way when Clytie brings my lunch,
too." He smiled and drew her hand into both his own as she sat beside him.

"How plump and warm your hand is--all full of little whispering pulses. My
hands are cold and drowsy and bony, and _so_ uninterested! Doesn't fever
bring forward a man's bones in the most shameless way?"

"Oh, Bernal--but you'll soon have them decently hidden again--indeed,
you're looking--quite--quite plump." She smiled encouragingly. A sudden
new look in his eyes made her own face serious again.

"Why, Nance, you're rather lovely when you smile!"

She smiled.

"Only then?"

He studied her, while she pretended to be grave.

He became as one apart, giving her a long look of unbiassed appraisal.

"Well--you know--now you have some little odds and ends of features--not
bad--no, not even half bad, for that matter. I can see thousands of miles
into your eyes--there's a fire smouldering away back in there--it's all
smoky and mysterious after you go the first few thousand miles--but, I
don't know--I believe the smile is _needed_, Nance. Poor child, I tell you
this as a friend, for your own good--it seems to make a fine big
perfection out of a lot of little imperfections that are only fairly
satisfactory."