"Often?"
"Yes, Irving."
"You're not going to forget me over there, are you, when you get to meeting all those counts and big fellows?"
"Oh, Irving!"
"You're not going to clean forget me then, are you, Miriam, and the great times we've had together, and the days in the woods, and the singing, and—"
"Oh, Irving, don't. I—Please—"
She laid her fork across her untouched plate and turned her face from him. Tears rose to choke her, and, tighten her throat against them as she would, one rose to the surface and ricocheted down her cheek.
"Why, Miriam!"
"It's nothing, Irving, only—only let's get out of here. I don't want any lunch, I just don't."
"Miriam, that's the way I feel, too. I—I just can't bear to have you go!"