He stepped in the room, and took her hands in his and looked into
her eyes as if he would never turn away his own. In her face was a
dawning of glad certainty and welcome which he could not doubt.
"You," she cried softly, "you. How is it possible? But how is it
possible?"
Her voice trembled a little with something so sweet that it raced
through his veins with magic.
"Did you rub the lamp?" he said. "Because I couldn't help coming."
She looked at him breathlessly.
"Have you," he asked her gravely, "eaten of the potatoes of Yaque?
And are you going to say, 'Off with his head'? And can you tell me
what is the population of the island?"
At that they both laughed--the merry, irrepressible laugh of youth
which explains that the world is a very good place indeed and that
one is glad that one belongs there. And the memory of that breakfast
on the other side of the world, of their happy talk about what would
happen if they two were impossibly to meet in Yaque came back to
them both, and set his heart beating and flooded her face with
delicate colour.
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