“Come over,” he invited her. “I want to see you very much. I’m in the church. Come in through the vestry.”
“All right,” was the cheerful reply. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
He had been very sly! He was tremendously pleased with himself! He had kept out of his voice all the longing, and all the exultation, and all the love! He would not trust even one vibration of his secret to a cold telephone wire!
He set the door of the vestry open wide. Within the church, the organist had conquered that baffling run in the mighty prelude of Bach, and the great dim spaces up amid the arches were pulsing in ecstasy with the tremendous harmony. Outside, upon the background of the celestial strain, there rose a fluttering, a twittering, a cooing. The doves of spring had returned to the vestry yard.
Just a moment and Gail appeared, poised in the doorway, with a filmy pink scarf about her shoulders, a simple frock of delicate grey upon her slender figure, her brown hair waving about her oval face, a faint flush upon her cheeks, her brown eyes sparkling, her red lips smiling up at him.
He had intended to tell her much, but instead, he folded her in his arms, and she nestled there, content. For a long, happy moment they stood, lost to the world of thought; and then she looked up at him, and laughed.
“I knew it from your voice,” she said.
He laughed with her; then he grew grave, but there was the light of a great happiness in his gravity.
“I have resigned,” he told her.
That was a part of what she had known.