"Yes," was all he could say.
"And you… want me back? You… want me to be your… wife?"
"Yes."
She sighed happily. "I'll get… well, then… It wasn't worth the—the
BOTHER before."
Neither of them spoke for a time; then she said: "I saw about it… in the papers. It was… splendid." She used proudly the word Hilda had found for her. "I was… proud."
Then: "You haven't… said anything. Isn't there… something you … ought to say?"
He bent over closer and whispered it in her ear, not once, but many times. She shut her eyes, but her lips smiled and her fragile arms drew his head even closer, her white hand stroked his cheek.
"If it's all… REAL," she said, "why don't you… KISS me?"
Words were not for him. Here was a moment when those symbols for thoughts which we have agreed upon and called words, could not express what must be expressed. As there are tones too high or too low to be sounded on any instrument, so too there are thoughts too tender to be expressed by words.
"Do you really… WANT me?" She wanted to be told and told again and again. "I'll be a… nice wife," she said. "I promise… I think we'll be… very happy."