Of course I don't flatter myself
that you've suffered."
"Oh, but I have," he hastened to assure her.
(A widow! A widow!)
"But it always makes a difference whether a woman is married or not."
"I should say it did," he interrupted again. "It makes all the difference
in the world."
At that she laughed outright, and someone suddenly abstracted the
distasteful clams and substituted for them a golden and glorious soup, and
music sounded forth from some invisible quartet, and--and--
(A widow! A widow! A widow!)
CHAPTER FIVE - THE DAY AFTER FALLING IN LOVE
The next day was a very memorable day for Jack. The day after a falling in
love is always a red-letter day; but the day after the falling in love--ah!
One looks back--far back--to the day before, and those hours of the day
before, when her sun had not yet dawned, and struggles to recollect what
ends life could have represented then. And one looks forward to the next
day, the next week, the next year--but, particularly to the next morning
with sensations as indescribable as they are delightful.
Whichever way you tip it, the kaleidoscope of the future arranges itself
in equally attractive shapes of rainbow hue, and the prospect over land or
sea--even if it is raining--looks brilliant green, and brighter red, and
brightest yellow.
Upon that glorious "next day" of Jack's the weather was quite a thing
apart for February--partaking of the warmth of May, and owing that fact to
a sun which early June need not have scorned to own.
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