'
'But--'
'I'll tell Mrs Varley,' he said. 'Never mind now.'
He sat looking at her. She could feel his darkened steady eyes looking
at her all the time. It made her a little bit frightened. She pushed
her hair off her forehead nervously.
'Do I look ugly?' she said.
And she blew her nose again.
A small smile came round his eyes.
'No,' he said, 'fortunately.'
And he went across to her, and gathered her like a belonging in his
arms. She was so tenderly beautiful, he could not bear to see her, he
could only bear to hide her against himself. Now; washed all clean by
her tears, she was new and frail like a flower just unfolded, a flower
so new, so tender, so made perfect by inner light, that he could not
bear to look at her, he must hide her against himself, cover his eyes
against her. She had the perfect candour of creation, something
translucent and simple, like a radiant, shining flower that moment
unfolded in primal blessedness. She was so new, so wonder-clear, so
undimmed.
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