She sighed, and her fingers touched his.
"I forgot," she said simply. "You see, there was a time when I hadn't you. You lifted me out of my quagmire."
"Not high enough, dear," he answered, caressingly. "Some day I'll take you over to Berlin or Vienna, or one of those wonderful places. We'll leave Isaac to grub along and sow red fire in Hyde Park. We'll find the doctors. We shall teach you to walk again without that stick. No more gloominess, please."
She pressed his hand tightly.
"Dear Arnold!" she whispered softly.
"Turn around and watch the river with me, little one," he begged. "See the lights on the barges, how slowly they move. What is there behind that one, I wonder?"
Her eyes followed his finger without enthusiasm.
"I can't look out of the room to-night, Arnold," she said. "The fancies won't come. Promise me one thing."
"I promise," he agreed.
"Tell me everything—don't keep anything back."