“Perhaps not,” I answered, then something in her glance moved me to add: “May I tell you then, what it was that caused our differences, who it was, rather?” And I put forth my hand.
“Yes,” she said, taking it. “Tell me.”
“It was yourself.”
“Myself?”
“Yes. Do you remember what you said that last evening I was here? I do. I’ve treasured every word of it since. You said I was to come and see you directly I returned, and that you would look forward to it.”
She nodded, smiling softly.
“Yes. And I have. And—what did you answer?”
“I answered that I would look forward to it every day until it came. And I have.”
“And is the result disappointing?”
“You know it is not.”