There was a suggestion of passionate defence in the low, hurried words, a quick insistence that Northrup accept her position as she herself was doing.
“Yes, Mary-Clare. Your old philosophy has proved itself.”
“I am glad you believe that.”
“I have come to the Forest to tell you so. The things that do not count drop away. We do not have to push them from our lives.”
“Oh! I am glad to hear you say that.”
Mary-Clare caught her breath.
There seemed to be nothing to keep them apart now––a word, a quick sentence were all that were necessary to bridge the past and the present. Neither dared consider the future.
The small, common things crept into the conversation for a time, then Mary-Clare asked hesitatingly:
“You––you are happy? And your book?”