You
have had a whimsical fancy for a character which does not exist."
"What I have seen," Lady Cynthia answered, "I have seen through
no spectacles at all--with my own eyes. But what I have seen,
even, does not count. There is something else."
"I am within a few weeks of my fiftieth birthday," Sir Timothy
reminded her, "and you, I believe, are twenty-nine."
"My dear man," Lady Cynthia assured him fervently, "you are the
only person in the world who can keep me from feeling forty-nine."
"And your people--"
"Heavens! My people, for the first time in their lives, will
count me a brilliant success," Lady Cynthia declared. "You'll
probably have to lend dad money, and I shall be looked upon as
the fairy child who has restored the family fortunes."
Sir Timothy leaned a little towards her.
"Last of all," he said, and this time his voice was not quite so
steady, "are you really sure that you care for me, dear, because
I have loved you so long, and I have wanted love so badly, and it
is so hard to believe--"
It was the moment, it seemed to her, for which she had prayed.
She was in his arms, tired no longer, with all the splendid fire
of life in her love-lit eyes and throbbing pulses. Around them
the bees were humming, and a soft summer breeze shook the roses
and brought little wafts of perfume from the carnation bed.
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