“There’s another reason, little woman. You saw my friends yesterday. They’re inquisitive. I’m afraid they’ll annoy you. So this is my last day.” He gazed across at the New Jersey shore.
She moved nearer, touching his arm ever so lightly. “Is—that—the—real—reason?” she asked.
He watched her red mouth frame each word, and his face lowered, as if irresistibly drawn toward hers. Then his head sank to a hand. He studied the path. Soon, “No,” he wrote, “it isn’t. The real reason involves a great happiness that I daren’t hope for.”
Agatha leaned even closer. “There—is—a—possibility—of—your—speech—returning?” she guessed. She held her breath at the very thought of it.
He nodded. “Yes, it’s very likely that my speech will come back.”
Agatha turned away, and glad tears swam beneath the black lashes. He would speak again! He would be like other people! Oh, how good! Presently, she blinked the tears away. “You—haven’t always—been—this—way?” she said.
“Not always.”
“When—did—it—happen?”
“Quite recently.”
Her face was sweet with pity. “Were—you—struck—dumb?” she asked.