The little noise outside died in the throb within. His lips pressed hot in her palms. With a sob, Jean bent and drew him into her arms.
In the morning they went silently back to the city while it was still early. The wind had risen in the night and blown the last snow from the branches. The trees cut thin and black in the new day.
Gregory was to come back in May.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Spring was late, but when it came, it came with a rush. In a day, the trees swelled in buds and blades of grass pricked the frozen earth. Jean woke one morning, late in April, to the feeling of a new force in the world and in herself. It was as if she had been walking through a tunnel, and now, unexpectedly, stepped into the light. Time had somehow slipped its leash; it no longer strained behind but ran forward. Jean jumped out of bed and went through the morning exercises that she had neglected for weeks. Raising and lowering herself on her toes, she drew in deep breaths of the spring air and with every breath the last two months receded, the future brightened, until, her whole body glowing, Jean came to a final halt, planted firmly on both feet.
She entered the dining-room humming, so that Martha, who was shirring eggs in the kitchen, poked her head through the swing door, as if she expected to see a stranger.
"Why, Jean!"
"Why, mummy!"
Martha smiled. "All the problems in the universe must be solved this morning."
"Not exactly. But I confess they don't seem quite so hopeless. I guess it's the spring. Who could be altogether miserable on a morning like this? In the spring tra la!"