"My Hermia!"
"You were with me that day. Didn't you know it?"
"I was with you every day, child."
She smiled happily.
"When I got down to Evian at nightfall they were searching for me. They thought that I had fallen and been killed. They reproved me. I was calm and smiling, my spirit still soaring to you across the distances. I had made up my mind to go to you the next day."
"Oh, if you had—!"
"In the morning," she went on, "came your letter telling me that you were sailing for New York. It wasn't like the other letters. You were reproachful and you were going away from me. It chilled me a little—after the day before. Olga's face interposed—again. And so I let you go. You see I'm telling you everything."
"Go on, dear."
"I got no more of your letters for a time—for a long time—"
"I wrote you—"