Mrs. Dennison sat up straight in her chair.
"You hope——?" she began.
"To be on my way in six months," he answered in solid satisfaction.
"And for long?"
"It must take time."
"What must?"
"My work there."
She rose and walked to the window, as she had when she was about to send the telegram. Now also she was breathing quickly, and the flush, once so rare on her cheeks, was there again.
"And we," she said in a low voice, looking out of the window, "shall just hear of you once a year?"
"We shall have regular mails in no time," said he. "Once a year, indeed! Once a month, Mrs. Dennison!"