He looked at her with tenderness and admiration, and the look was the
flower, the perfection of his sanity.
Milly drew in her breath with a little sound like a sob. Her joy was so
great that it was almost unbearable.
Then he looked at Agatha and admired the green gown she wore. "You don't
know," he said, "how exquisitely right you are."
She smiled. She knew how exquisitely right _he_ was.