"What—can I give you, Jerry-Jo?"
The old, pleading look was in the dark eyes, but low passion had vanished forever.
"Could you—would you give me a kiss for the secret?"
"Yes, Jerry-Jo," and the kiss fell upon the white brow.
Could John Boswell have been there then he would have understood.
"You—you are crying! I feel a tear with the kiss!"
The quivering, broken smile smote Priscilla to the heart. The ward was deathly quiet; only the deep breathing of men closer to life than Jerry-Jo McAlpin broke the stillness.
"Why—do you cry?"
"You know, it's a bad habit of mine, Jerry-Jo."
"Yes. You—you cried on his book, you remember?"