"I do feel grateful to you and I always shall
feel grateful to you as long as I live. And now will you take my
hand and tell me you are sorry, and let me say it all over again,
and with my whole heart? for that's the way I mean it."
She was facing him now, her hand held out, her head thrown back,
her dark eyes flashing, her bosom heaving. Slowly and reverently,
as a devotee would kiss the robe of a passing priest, Jack bent
his head and touched her fingers with his lips.
Then, raising his eyes to hers, he asked, "And is that all, Miss
Ruth? Isn't there something more?" Not once had she mentioned his
own safety--not once had she been glad over him--"Something more?"
he repeated, an ineffable tenderness in his tones--"something--it
isn't all, is it?"
"Why, how can I say anything more?" she murmured in a lowered
voice, withdrawing her hand as the sound of a step in the hall
reached her ear.
The door swung wide: "Well, what are you two young people
quarrelling about?" came a soft, purring voice.
"We weren't quarrelling, Aunty.
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