"There isn't another woman in the world would make such a sacrifice for a fellow like me," Hale said. Williams could not see the smile she gave him, but it must have been potent. He took her in his arms, wrenched himself away, walked down about three steps, turned and walked up them again, kissed her a second time—a good satisfactory hug, and then exclaiming, "I can't bear to go," bounded down the stairs and was gone. The front door banged behind him, and Doris Helen lifted her hands from the balustrade. She hardly noticed Williams as he opened the door.
Antonia was still standing.
"Well, Doris," she said as the younger woman entered, and the tone of her voice was deep and bell-like.
Doris sat down on the edge of the sofa—she always sat on the edge of her chair so that her feet could touch the ground. Her hands, folded as usual in her lap, were perfectly quiet, yet something in the way her eyes darted from point to point made Williams feel that she was nervous.
"Well," he said briskly, "what did you decide?"
She looked at him wonderingly.
"I promised Antonia I would not marry without her consent. I shall keep my word, of course."
Her sister-in-law held out a hand to her, and with the other covered her eyes.
"Thank God!" she said.