I don’t think either of us moved for a full moment. The flute was singing so loud in my heart that I was afraid of myself. And, woman-like, I backed away from the thing I wanted.
“It’s not me, Peter, I must remember now. It’s my bairns. I’ve two bairns to bring up.”
“I’ve got the three of you to bring up,” maintained Peter. And that made us both sit silent for another moment or two.
“It’s not that simple,” I finally said, though Peter smiled guardedly at my ghost of a smile. 379
“It would be if you cared for me as much as Dinkie does,” he said with quite unnecessary solemnity.
“Oh, Peter, I do, I do,” I cried out as the memory of all I owed him surged mistily through my mind. “But a gray hair is something you can’t joke away. And I’ve got five of them, right here over my left ear. I found them, months ago. And they’re there to stay!”
“How about my bald spot?” demanded my oppressor and my deliverer rolled into one.
“What’s a bald spot compared to a bob-cat of a temper like mine?” I challenged, remembering how I’d once heard a revolver-hammer snap in my husband’s face.
“But it’s your spirit I like,” maintained the unruffled Peter.
“You wouldn’t always,” I reminded him.