They sat down on that bench in the crystal wilderness, a man and woman alone in the blue-skied spaces, among the tree-trunks, and the circle of earth. And then to Myra came an inexpressible moment of agony and longing and love. She had struggled months; she had stayed away; and then she had come back, and merged her life in the life of this man. And she could bear this no longer! Oh, Joe, will you never speak? Will you never come to your senses?
More and more color was rising to his face, and his hands in his lap were trembling. He tried to speak naturally—but his voice was odd and unreal.
"Myra."
"Yes," tremulously.
"You must have thought me a brute."
"I thought—you were busy, overworked."
"So I was. I was swallowed up—swallowed up."
There was a silence, in which they heard little gray sparrows twittering in the sunlight.
"Myra."
He hardly heard her "yes."