"But just what?"
"Why, what they're all talking about. That she _is_ so awfully radiant.
That she's so tremendously happy. It's the question," he explained, "of
what in the world she has to make her so."
I winced a little, but tried not to show it. "My dear man, how do _I_
know?"
"She _thinks_ you know," he after a moment answered.
I could only stare. "Mrs. Server thinks I know what makes her happy?" I
the more easily represented such a conviction as monstrous in that it
truly had its surprise for me.