“I want you, always,” said he.
She stooped again, and this time laid her lips lingeringly on his; and his arm stole about the slim waist.
“If you’ll just get well,” she whispered, “you may have me—always!”
He passed his fingers over her hair, and kissed her again and again. Then he looked at her long and earnestly.
“Where’s Al?” said he; “I want Al!”
I came forward promptly. I thought that this violation of the doctor’s regulation requiring rest and quiet had gone quite far enough.
“Al,” said he, still holding her hand, “do you remember out there by the windmill tower that night, and the petunias and four-o’clocks?”
“Yes, Jim, I remember,” said I. “But you mustn’t talk any more now.”
“No, I won’t,” said he, and went right on; “but even before that, and ever since, I haven’t wanted anything we’ve been trying so hard to get, half as much as I’ve wanted Josie; and now—we lost the fight, didn’t we? Things have been slipping away from us, haven’t they? Gone, aren’t they?”
“Go to sleep now, Jim,” said I. “Plenty of time for those things when you wake up.”