"I'll go back home; I'll work with him. Sometimes, I'll come to see you, if you don't mind, to tell you about ... him. You don't mind, do you?"
With an obvious effort, she shook her head. "No, I don't mind. I'll be glad to see you," she muttered, holding her self-possession doggedly.
An awkward pause followed in which Bayard fussed with the ends of the gay silk scarf that hung about his neck and shoulders.
"I guess I'd better go now," he mumbled, and picked up his hat.
"You see, I don't know what to say to you," Ann confessed, drawing a hand across her eyes. "It has all overwhelmed me so. I ... perhaps another time I can talk it over with you."
"If you think it's best to mention it again, ma'am," he said.
She extended her hand to him and he clasped it. On the contact, his arm trembled as though he would crush the small fingers in his, but the grasp went no further than a formal shake.
"In a day or two ... Ann," he said, using her given name for the first time.
He bowed low, turned quickly and half stumbled into the hall, closing the door behind him as he went.
The woman sat down on the edge of the bed weakly.