"It doesn't matter anyway. We want to talk, not to listen. I've got something to tell you, my dear, that I've been thinking about all this year I've been gone."
I did not realize the impulse that made me stretch out my hand, lay it upon his, and ask gently:
"Please, Jack, don't tell me anything important until after dinner. I feel rather upset anyway. Let's have one of our care-free dinners and when we've finished we can talk."
Jack gave me a long curious look under which I flushed hot. Then he said brusquely, "All right, the weather and the price of flour, those are good safe subjects, we'll stick to them."
The dinner was perfect in every detail. Jack ate heartily, and although I was too unstrung to eat much I managed to get enough down to deceive him into thinking I was enjoying the meal also.
The coffee and cheese dispatched, I leaned back and smiled at Jack.
"Now light your cigar," I commanded.
"Not yet. We're going to talk a bit first, you and I."
I felt that same little absurd thrill of apprehension. Jack was changed in some way. I could not tell just now. He took my fingers in his big, strong hand.
"Look at me, Margaret."
Jack's voice was low and tense. It held a masterful note I had never heard. Without realizing that I did so, I obeyed him, and lifted my eyes to his.