“Then we have nothing to fear. We can both march on for ever. You are not only food and drink to me,–that is, the equivalent of corncake, potatoes, marmalade, and claret,–but your presence is life and strength and a spiritual tonic.”
“That is a good sentiment,” and she reached forth a hand, which he took.
“Merely to look at you,” he continued, “will be exhilarating on a long march. And to hear your voice, and touch you–why, my soul becomes drunk in thinking of it.”
“Then you expect to be in a state of intoxication during the whole journey?”
“That is my hope.”
It happened, a few minutes later, that she herself became preoccupied, her eyes fixed 158thoughtfully upon the little portrait on the opposite chair.
“A dollar for your thoughts.”
“Why so much?”
“Because any thought of yours,” said Pats, “is worth at least a dollar.”
“Thanks.”