"Not yet, I think, dear." The word slipped from him, and they both listened to its echoes.
"I wish you'd go," she whispered.
"I'm going." He did not hesitate at the door or he would have seen her drop into a chair and let her limp arms slide across the table as she let out a noisy sob of happiness because his friendliness was still only a cloak that could sometimes be lifted to show the man beneath.
Almost gaily, she went to Mildred Caniper's room.
"Zebedee stayed a long time today. I could hear you talking."
"Yes."
"Isn't he busy now?"
"He works all day and half the night."
"Oh." Mildred's twisted face regained a semblance of its old expression and her voice some of its precision. "Then you ought to be looking after him."
"I can't manage both of you."