"Yes. And I've kept it. She died shortly after. The wild streak was in my blood. I've had to fight. I have sown my wild oats in work and adventure. This took away a good deal of the gregarious instinct. I have fought wild beasts on foot; I have explored poisonous swamps; I have climbed precipices—and always the thing tugged at me."
"And the dream-woman?"
"I'm afraid she's been a little too long in coming."
"But how would you know?"
"I'd know. I can't tell you how or why. Only, I shall know. Something will tell me. I wonder, am I a mollycoddle?"
"Boy," she said, pressing his arm, for she hadn't taken her hand away, "I did not believe that there was such a man in all this world. Why, you have won your Marne!... And she will come, this mate, for God is just. If I had a son, I'd want him like you. All mothers long for sons like you.... She will come!"
"She'll have to hurry," he replied, lightly. "I'm heading into the war zone. I may never come back." He laid his free hand on hers. "I wonder if I can make you understand what your kindness has done for me? When I came on board I was all but done for. I had just lost the one human being I loved. May I come and see you in New York?"
"I shall be waiting for you. You have my address."
Later, in her cabin, while sleepy Sarah brushed and aired the wavy coils of hair which had been confined all day beneath the hot wig, she turned with shining eyes—eyes like purple grapes in the rain.