"I love you. I didn't mean to tell you quite yet, but I . . . I . . ."
"I know. And it makes me so happy."
. . . . . .
You never saw anybody so delighted as Dad was when we told him. "This makes me glad clear through," he said. "Blakely, boy, I couldn't love you more if you were my own son. Elizabeth, girl, come and kiss your old Daddy."
"And you aren't surprised, Dad?"
"He's known I've loved you, all along. Haven't you, Tom?"
"But I'm sure he never dreamed I could possibly care for you," I said. And then, because I was too happy to do anything else, I went to my state-room, and had a good cry.
I have read somewhere that Love would grow old were it not for the tears of happy women.