She knew he was making a concession of which he was half-afraid, because of what he owed her, and while one half of her longed to be self-sacrificing and release him, the other half fiercely demanded the straw that yet might save. And still she said nothing, gazing, gazing, into the flames.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I hardly know,” with a tired smile. “Of course I want you, but if—”
“Never mind the ‘if’,” cheerfully. “If I promise to run down and see you, will you go away at once, and try to get well again quickly?”
“It would make a lot of difference.”
“Then that settles it. Can you start tomorrow?”
“I think I could.”
Her pulses were leaping fitfully now—leaping and bounding with a swift delight. Perhaps he felt it, for he withdrew his hand, and gave himself a little shake, as if warding off something dangerous.
“Where will you go?” in a matter-of-fact voice.
“I hardly know, but I like the sea. Any little place that is warm in the spring. I might as well motor down, so it doesn’t matter about trains, and the motor can come back for you.”