'Better, I hope.'
'Have you missed me?'
'Missed you!'
And then the endearments, the confidences, the hopes and fears, the plans for the morrow, the plans for all life. As she listened, the tears ran down her face, but still she turned on and on. Sometimes he was so hopeful and bright, and again so despairing.
She remembered the occasion of every word. Once she had dined out and had gone to the theatre. It was an engagement she could not well refuse. It was an amusing play and she was in good spirits. She rang him up between the acts and found him depressed. Hurrying home she had settled down to talk to him at her ease. How it all came back to her now!
'Are you there, my dearest?'
'Yes, but oh, so tired, so old!'
'It is a bad day. Every one has been complaining of tiredness to-day.'
'You say that because you are kind. Just to comfort me. It's no use. I can see so clearly, sometimes, I shall never get well—to-night I know it.'
'My darling, no.'