That was her only answer.
They were silent for a moment. All about them swirled the heat, while the shrill of the locusts was like a wall of sound, pierced only by the very far-off clanking of artillery harnesses, and once or twice by the faint, creepy boom of a cannon.
And into that silence stole a feeling that they had known each other always. They did not have youth’s slow, diffident reticences. They had lived and learned that when one finds an understanding heart it must be linked to one’s own very quickly and surely.
“You have—I am glad it has helped you,” she said softly.
For answer he bent his head and reverently kissed her hand.
“And your son—you are a little closer together?” she asked.
“Yes. I am more glad than I could tell you, ma’am, to say that we are.”
“And I love your grandson. Dear boy, he told me that he would take care of me. And do you know, I didn’t feel a bit like laughing at the tiny fellow, because I felt as though it were you speaking.”
“You knew him then, ma’am?”
“Yes. He spoke your name and—you mustn’t go and think that you’re the only one who has been influenced by things.