"I love her already. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed.
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