"Perhaps a little fretting has done it," she answers, with a smile and a half-suppressed sigh.
He echoes the sigh; and it may be a few tears for all the long hours spent apart gather in their eyes, "in thinking of the days that are no more."
Presently, when they are calmer, more forgetful of their separation, they seat themselves upon a sofa and fall into a happy silence. His arm is round her; her hand rests in his.
"Of what are you thinking, sweetheart?" he asks, after a while, stooping to meet her gaze.
"A happy thought," she answers. "I am realizing how good a thing it is 'to feel the arms of my true love round me once again.'"
"And yet it was of your own free will they were ever loosened."
"Of my free will?" Reproachfully. "No; no." Then, turning away from him, she says, in a low tone, "What did you think when you saw me singing last night?"
"That I had never seen you look so lovely in my life."
"I don't mean that, Teddy. What did you think when you saw me singing—so?"
"I wished I was a millionaire, that I might on the instant rescue you from such a life," replies he, with much emotion.