She was still smiling as she met Ralston in the middle of the room.
“You look happy, dear,” he said, kissing her forehead softly.
“I’m not,” she answered. “I’m glad to see you. There’s a difference. Sit down.”
“Has there been any trouble?” he asked, seating himself in a little low chair beside the corner of the sofa she had chosen.
“Not exactly trouble—no. It’s the old story—only it’s getting so old that I’m beginning to hate it. You understand.”
“Of course I do. I wish there were anything to be done—which you would consent to do.” He added the last words as though by an afterthought.
“I’ll consent to almost anything, Jack.”
The smile had vanished from her face and she spoke in a despairing tone, fixing her big eyes on his, and bending her heavy eyebrows as though in bodily pain. He took her hand—firm, well-grown and white—in his and laid it against his lean cheek.
“Dear!” he said.
His voice trembled a little, which was unusual. He felt unaccountably emotional and was more in love than usual. The tone in which he spoke the single word touched Katharine, and she leaned forward, laying her other hand upon his other one.