She paused for a moment opposite me, looking at me with her wonderful shining eyes.
‘Not I, not I,’ she said.
She still paused, still looking at me, still waiting for me to join her, as it were. And in that pause a sudden faint far-away light broke on me. She had said words which must have awoke in her, even as they awoke in me, the most keen and poignant sorrow that can touch those who love each other, and yet she was still smiling, and her eyes shone.
I got up. Something of that huge joy that transfigured her was wrapping me round also. The thrill, the rapture in which she was enveloped, began to encompass us.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘It is for you to tell me,’ she said. ‘It must be done that way.’
‘You said “ready to drop into lonely homes,”’ I said.
‘“So that they are filled with laughter,”’ said she.
Then I knew.
‘It is here,’ I said—‘the nursery.’