"Have you got it, Ted?" my father asked.
"What isn't in my head is in the bag upstairs," I replied.
Right after dinner Helen and I fled to our retreat, brutally closing the door in Frances's face. We sat on the floor before a fire and talked. Berlin and London—we compared notes until after midnight. As we were about to go to bed, Helen whispered:
"There's one thing more, Ted, I haven't told you."
And then came the big news I had been expecting while away.
"I just had to tell you yourself, darling. I didn't want to write it."
God! If anything should happen to my beloved! and I went sick and cold at the thought. But she did not know this fear, for I held her tight, kissing her eyes. We sat on before the fire, far into the night, talking of the new future this revealed, of the new wonder that had come into our lives.
"Edward Jevons, Junior," Helen murmured as she fell asleep on my shoulder.