Nick ever said things like that, but she hoped he felt them.
She knew, for he had told her, that Nick loved her more than any man had ever loved any woman, and yet she wanted to do things to make him love her even more—to make him love her as much as she loved him. Nick—Nick. She printed his smile, his head thrown back, his eyes looking at her, on the sidewalk, on the sky. Ellen, darling—Ellen, you are so sweet—Ellen, I love you.
I mustn't think about Nick when I'm crossing the street. It makes my knees tremble so.
If only he and Christabel would like each other! That's the only thing that makes me miserable, she thought, singing a song inside herself.
"I try so hard to make Nick realize what a marvelous person Christabel is," she told Uncle Johnnie. "He's awful! I just have to work to make him be nice to her!" She couldn't help glowing, for it was usually Christabel who had to do that. She had heard it over and over
