"Yes, but see what we have to go through, first!"
"I know," she admitted, unhappily. "But even then, we could say that it was to be for the last time."
"As we said before—and failed!"
"But this time we needn't fail. Think what it will mean if you have your work on your transmitting camera waiting for you—months and years of hard and honest work—work that you love, work that will lead to bigger things, and give you the time, yes, and the money, you need to perfect your amplifier. But outside of that, even to have your work—surely that's enough!"
"I'd have to have you, as well!" he said, out of the silence that had fallen upon them.
"You always will, Jim, you know that!"
"But I'm afraid of myself! I'm afraid of my moods—I'm afraid of my own distrust. I have a feeling that it may hurt you, sometime, almost beyond forgiveness!"
"I'll try to understand!" she murmured. And again silence fell over them.
"I'm afraid of making promises," he said, half whimsically, half weakly, after many minutes of thought.
"I don't want you to promise—only try!" she pleaded, swept by a wave of gratitude that seemed to fling her more intimately than ever before into her husband's arms. Yet it was a wave, and nothing more. For it receded as it came, leaving her, a moment later, chilled and apprehensive before their over-troubled future. With a little muffled cry of emotion, almost animal-like in its inarticulate intensity, she turned to her husband, and strained him in her arms, in her human and unhappy and unsatisfied arms.