"I know. I didn't say a word, did I? But I went to work and I liked it. Then you came back——"
"Well?" His word hung tenderly between them.
"Yes." Catherine sighed. "Like falling in love again, wasn't it? Only deeper. And we wanted Letty." Her voice quavered again. "That's it! I love you so much. But you don't sit down in your love—and devour it—and let it devour you. It isn't right, Charles, help me! I"—she laughed faintly—"I'm like your shell-shocked soldiers. You couldn't really cure them until peace came. Then they weren't shell-shocked any more. I'm shell-shocked too, and I can't cure myself, and I see no armistice. I'm growing worse. I know why women have hysterics and all sorts of silly diseases. I'll have 'em too in a day or so!"
"Funny, isn't it, when I'd like nothing better than a chance to loaf here with the kids. But you'll get back to town soon and see people, theaters, club——"
"And hear about the whooping cough the Thomases had—and—oh, damn!" Catherine was crying suddenly, broken, stifled sobs.
Charles pulled her down into his arms, holding her firmly against his chest.
"There, old girl! Stop it! What do you want?"
Catherine pushed herself away from him, her hands braced against him.
"I won't be silly." She flung her hand across her eyes. "I'm sorry. But I've tried to figure it out, and I just drop into a great black gulf, and drown!"
"What are you figuring on?" Charles let his fingers travel slowly along the curve of her cheek until they shut softly about her throat.