"I couldn't be unfaithful to you, if I tried," he whispered to her. "I love you so dearly that my heart warms to all females. I could kiss the ugliest just because you're my sweet wife."
"Oh, Alfie, I couldn't bear that."
He never left home without finding her on his return hovering about the wicket-gate, waving her hand as he appeared round the bend of the road, and hurrying to meet him with outstretched arms. Those spoke eloquently of the suffering which approaching separation must impose. Each refrained from mention of France.
Alfred hoped that she would have something to console her, something intimately his and hers, when he went back to the front. From the first, husband and wife had discussed the possibility of children.
"Are you afraid?" he asked, thinking of her mother.
"Yes."
"Ah-h-h. I'm not surprised to hear that."
"I want to whisper something, Alfie."
He inclined his head. She kissed his ear, murmuring:
"I am afraid—afraid it mayn't come. That's the only fear I have."