"I can't pry into him." Catherine's feeling broke into splinters of thought. "It wouldn't be fair. He'd hate it. Digging under to see his roots. Something passionless and fine in this—no strife—as if he accepted me—whole. Dear Bill."
"Well?" He was smiling at her, she knew. "You have a train to catch, haven't you?"
They stood together in the downtown station. Bill had collected her luggage from the check-room, had brought a bunch of violets for her from the little florist's counter.
"It's Valentine's Day, you know." He watched gravely as she fastened them against the soft beaver of her collar. "I'm starting East to-morrow," he said. "I'll see your family before you do, won't I?"
"You can give them my love first hand. Tell them I'm coming soon."
"I'll tell them you are so triumphant and successful that they will be fortunate to have you again."
Catherine laughed softly. A local train was announced, draining off the waiting people, leaving them almost alone in the station.
"You know," she said, quietly, "you puff me up, Bill. Not when you say ridiculous things like that, but all the time." Under his seeking, hungry eyes, she flushed. "And I am grateful."