He soon had his boat opposite the bench, made it fast. He sprang to her, seized her hands and was kissing them. "No—no. You mustn't," she protested, drawing away.
"Tell me all about it!" he cried. "How I suffered till I heard your voice on the telephone! I was watching the house with a glass all afternoon until dark. I was in the boat, lying a few rods up there all night. And from dawn I was across the lake watching with the glass again. So, I knew everything was quiet. But until your voice came, I was mad with dread—though I had seen you, just like your usual self, in the grounds and on the veranda hours before. But—tell me all about it."
"There's nothing to tell," said she. His recital had seemed to her as if it were of something in which she had neither part nor interest.
"He knows, doesn't he?
"Yes—he knows." And there she stopped because she never had discussed and never would discuss with anyone what happened between her and her husband.
"What is he going to do?"
"I don't know."
"But— Don't keep me in suspense, dear. Is he going to get a divorce?"
"No. I'm to get it."
"Your voice is very queer. Aren't you—glad?"