Man and wife—but lovers yet.
“Heigho!” he said, getting up and pulling aside the heavy crimson curtains to look out, “heigho! these partings must come. It must be sad sometimes to be a soldier’s wife.”
“It would be less sad, Arnold, if I could share your wanderings.”
“What, Ethel! you, my tender, too fragile wife? Think what you say, child.”
She let the work that she had resumed drop once more in her lap, and gazed up at him as he bent over the high-backed chair.
“Why not I as well as others?”
“Our children, dear one. My beautiful Effie and bold Leonard.”
“They have your blood and mine in their veins, Arnold. They are wise and they are brave.”
Arnold mused for a little.
“And we,” he said, “have few friends, and hardly a relative living.”