But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. “You’re great, Lucy! I had no idea you were so great!” John exclaimed. One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. Of course I tripped right when I went to school at seven in the morning, so I sat in the Nurse’s office for six hours until my Dad got off work! It hurt, too, and they aren’t allowed to give children painkillers. But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous.
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