"I think I can do my duty," he said, wearily.
"I am so glad you were elected!" she said.
"Yes," he answered, and became whiter.
She had sat by the bed, growing uneasy. Ought she to have told him all? Ought she to have acknowledged her deep devotion? Why was he so sad? Surely they could mourn for Davy together! Tears had come in her eyes as she gazed on the couch where Davy's soul went away.
The man had been comforted. "Were you remembering Davy?" he asked.
"Yes, dear," she said.
He had put his weak hand in hers. She was the happiest she had ever been.
She had debated if she might deplore politics. She hated politics now. But she had not dared to be frank. In five minutes more the bridges were burned. The man and the woman were apart again, each in anguish, and neither able to aid the other.
That Lockwin needed a trip to Washington could not be denied. That Esther feared to speak of Davy was becoming very noticeable.
Yet no sooner is the husband gone than the woman laments the folly of letting him leave her.