She smiled up at me, a trusting little smile as I thought. She had no idea what was coming, but she always gave me my head in the things that do not matter much.
"What is it, Jim?" she asked.
"It's this," I said, and then I told what I had promised.
"But that," she protested, "means burying yourself in New Guinea and the Solomons for four whole years."
"It does," I said. "There is no other way."
I had not been looking at her face—there had been no need, for I was quite convinced that she would see things in a proper light—but now I turned on her. To my surprise there was just the least little touch of annoyance in her face.
"You don't quite relish the idea," I said.
"It's a very foolish idea," she said quite frankly. "I don't know what you could have been thinking of."
"I was thinking of my father," I told her. "I was making his last hour happy, and he died in the knowledge that I would carry his work on to the conclusion he had planned."
"Are you going to see it through?" The abruptness of the question took me aback.