“Not now, Billy,” she answered.
“And yet you say you love me!”
The sadness went. Julia’s face became limpid as water, bright as light, warm as flame. “I love you,” she said. “I love you! I love you!” She went on reiterating these three words. And with every iteration, the thrill in her voice seemed to deepen. “And, Billy—.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not quite sure when—but I know I’m going to marry you some time.”
“I’ll wait, then,” Billy promised. “As long as I know you love me, I can wait until—the imagination of man has not conceived the limit yet.”
“Well, how have you been to-day?” Ralph asked. But before Peachy could speak, he answered himself in a falsetto voice that parodied her round, clear accents, “I want to fly! I want to fly! I want to fly!” His tone was not ill-tempered, however; and his look was humorously a affectionate, as one who has asked the same question many times and received the same answer.
“I do want to fly, Ralph,” Peachy said listlessly. “Won’t you let me? Oh, please let my wings grow again?”
Ralph shook his head inflexibly. “Couldn’t do it, my dear. It’s not womanly. The air is no place for a woman. The earth is her home.”
“That’s not argument,” Peachy asserted haughtily. “That’s statement. Not that I want to argue the question. My argument is unanswerable. Why did we have wings, if not to fly. But I don’t want to quarrel—.” Her voice sank to pleading. “I’d always be here when you came back. You’d never see me flying. It would not prevent me from doing my duty as your wife or as Angela’s mother. In fact, I could do it better because it would make me so happy and well. After a while, I could take Angela with me. Oh, that would be rapture!” Peachy’s eyes gleamed.