I stood smiling down at her. She sat smiling up at me. There was more in that smile than a lifetime of words could have uttered.
But when I was about to pull the pearls out of my pocket again she leaned forward and said, huskily: “Don’t, Frank. Keep them.”
I looked at her, puzzled. “Why, Regina?”
“Because some day you—you’ll give them back to me. Till then they’ll be yours. They’ll be a symbol—a pledge.”
“Will it be—some day—some day—soon?”
“Not so very soon, Frank. I must still have time to—to think of Stephen. I cared for him—in my way.”
“I think of him, too,” I said, shakily. “It seems hard that he should have had to give everything, when I’m—I’m getting everything.”
“Oh, death isn’t so terrible—or so significant. There wouldn’t be so much of it if it was. I only mean—but I can’t explain to you. We must get a little farther on—not only you and I—but our country—our countries—we must give still more—we must at least offer all even if it isn’t all taken away from us—before it’s given back to us—renewed—purified.”
“And then?”
“Oh, then!”