The wordy silence troubled her.
"Mother, Mother," she cried, "why does he love me so much?
I know why I love him.

I love him because he is like what love himself should be.
But what does he see in me?
I am not worthy of him.

And yet--why, I cannot tell--though I feel so much beneath him, I don't feel humble.

I feel proud, terribly proud.

Mother, did you love my father as I love Prince Charming ?" The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed her cheeks, and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of pain.