Barbara came out presently and sat down at his side.
“I should be so happy,” she sighed, “if——”
“Eh—what?” he roused himself to say. He reached out and patted her hand. “Why be unhappy about anything—just now?” he murmured. He smiled dreamily into her eyes. “The dinner was perfect, sweetheart; as for the reminder from your unknown, why not be thankful that ’it’ contents itself with correspondence?”
Barbara turned her eyes away. An aching lump arose in her throat as if to choke her. When she finally answered him it was in a low, controlled voice.
“There will be other letters—other reminders; you saw that.”
David was at the moment languidly optimistic. It occurred to him to silence her grieving lips with a kiss; but he was too drowsily comfortable to move. He contented himself by again caressing her fingertips.
“Don’t poison our happiness by perpetual references to something neither of us can possibly help,” he murmured.