There was, perhaps, no creature in the world on this particular April morning whose happiness approached Fay's.

She raised her white eyelids and smiled at Wentworth.
His well-conducted heart nudged him suddenly like a vulgar, jocular friend.
"Is all your gladness for Michael ?" he said boldly.

"Have you none to spare for me ?" He was in for it.
"You must forgive me if I am too impetuous, too precipitate," he said, "but won't you make me doubly happy, Fay, before I go." He rose and came towards her.

She looked down, half frightened, and he suddenly felt himself colossal, irresistible, a man not to be trifled with.

"You have known for a long time that I love you," he said.