"What a grave face!" he said, with a lightness he was not feeling.
"Why so serious, dear? Has anything gone wrong?"
She shook her head.
"No, nothing whatever; on the contrary, I was thinking how grateful
for all my happiness I ought to feel--and do feel. Would you call me
an ungrateful, discontented person, Uncle?"
"You? No! What makes you ask?"
"I think I _am_ ungrateful, only you don't notice it, because I am not
more so than most, and perhaps less than a good many. Everybody has
flashes of self-revelation, don't you think, when one sees oneself and
the whole world in the true proportions and not as in every-day life.
I have just had such a revelation. I was feeling rather annoyed that
Captain Stafford should have forgotten the tournament and so make me
late; and then you said something about him--you spoke as though he
were ill--and the sickening thought flashed through my mind: suppose
you--or some one I loved--were taken from me--died? Then things
slipped into their right size. The petty woes and grievances which so
constantly irritate me became petty. I didn't care in the least about
the tennis--I thanked God for you and for your love."
He saw that she was strangely moved. Her voice had a rough, dry sound
which he had not heard before, and her brows were knitted in a plucky
effort to keep back the tears that some inward pain had driven to her
eyes.
"I didn't mean to frighten you, Lois," he said remorsefully.
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