“Of course I do. I thought you’d like it.”
“But do you like it? Do you want to go? Isn’t there—wouldn’t you rather stay here?”
“Oh, no.” She struck lightly on the edge of the table with the gloves, avoiding his eyes. “I’d rather be there. We’ve had our little change, and we can go back. It’s our home, anyway; and we’ve enough money to last for a long time yet.”
“Of course we have, and it doesn’t matter if we haven’t.” The old man’s face burned with excitement and joy. “But the house is sold! Where shall we go? Oh, that doesn’t matter, either. We can get rooms near there. You’d like to be back near the old place, wouldn’t you? We could go to Mrs. Cassidy’s; you know she rents her two back rooms on the second floor. Oh, Viola—to be back again!”
He sank back in his chair, his eyes half shut in the ecstasy of this sudden restoration to happiness.
“Just think of it!” he said. “To see the bay again, and Lotta’s Fountain, and Montgomery Street! and to smell the sea outside the Golden Gate when the wind’s that way! and to feel the fog! Viola, you don’t know what I’ve suffered. I never meant to tell you.”
“I know—I know now. But I didn’t guess at first—truly, father, I didn’t know at first.”
“Why, of course not, honey—how should you? And it doesn’t matter now. It’s all over, and we’re going to have the time of our lives. But it was awful, wasn’t it? Everything was so lonesome and strange. And those dreadful people! But we won’t have any more bother with them. When’ll we start? Let’s not waste any time.”
Viola had turned away to the tall glass behind him, under the pretense of taking off her hat. She could not control her tears. As she stood, seeing her blurred image dark against the lamplight, she could hear the colonel babbling on, apparently too preoccupied to notice that she was not answering: