“Shall I tell you?”
“Yes, tell me.”
“It was partly your love-letters—”
“Did I write love-letters to you? I suppose I did—but I tried awfully hard not to!”
“Beautiful love-letters! And then—being at home: that more than anything else made me realize that I was in love with you. I had thought so before, but then I was sure of it. And—well, it seemed stupid not to make something of our two lives. Why should we keep on being afraid to try?...”
“Were you afraid, too, Rose-Ann?”
“Yes. But I’m not any more. We’re going to be very happy, and you’re going to be a very great man and write wonderful things....”
He stirred uneasily. “Don’t put our happiness on that basis, please. Suppose I don’t write wonderful things!”
“But you will!”
He sighed. “That makes me realize that I am a little afraid of you, Rose-Ann. Afraid you will make me have a career!”