He ought to go. She knew that. And yet——.
“I can wait, Kay. Though you send me away, I shall wait forever for you.”
She was sorry for him—and more than sorry. This pleading of the living voice was different—so different from the pleading of letters. Dimly she heard within herself the echo of his clamor stirring.
“Dear Harry, I want you to stay—but to stay just as you were always.”
He caught his breath. It was almost as though he laughed in the darkness. “It was always as it is now. You didn’t know; it began that first day when I fought Peter, showing off like a boy. So if it’s to be as it was always——-.”
He looked so lonely standing there. He oughtn’t to be sad with her—it hurt; they’d always been glad together. She took his hands tremblingly, “Stay and be—be the mouth-organ boy. We’ll have such good times, Harry, we three together. Don’t be my—anything else. I’m too young for that, and——
“And?”
“Peter hasn’t learnt to do without me. Lorie was the same with you—you understand. So Harry, promise me that you won’t let Peter know—won’t do anything to make him know, or to make him unhappy.”
He put his arms about the narrow shoulders, stooping his head. “Trust me.”
She leant her face aside sharply. “Not on my lips. They’re for the man I marry.”