THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
makes things out when indifference doesn't notice. And that's why I know that I notice."
"Are you sure you've got it right?" the girl smiled. "I thought rather that affection was supposed to be blind."
"Blind to faults, not to beauties," Lord Mark promptly rejoined.
"And are my extremely private worries, my entirely domestic complications, which I'm ashamed to have given you a glimpse of—are they beauties?"
"Yes, for those who care for you—as everyone does. Everything about you is a beauty. Besides which I don't believe," he declared, "in the seriousness of what you tell me. It's too absurd you should have any trouble about which something can't be done. If you can't get the right thing, who can, in all the world, I should like to know? You're the first young woman of your time. I mean what I say." He looked, to do him justice, quite as if he did; not ardent, but clear—simply so competent, in such a position, to compare, that his quiet assertion had the force not so much perhaps of a tribute as of a warrant. "We're all in love with you. I'll put it that way, dropping any claim of my own, if you can bear it better. I speak as one of the lot. You weren't born simply to torment us—you were born to make us happy. Therefore you must listen to us."
She shook her head with her slowness, but this
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