Jack laughed softly. "So they have—I forgot they were here," he said, looking fondly down at his wife.
Echo began to play quietly another ballad. "I've always wanted a piano," she said.
"You'd found one here waiting, if I'd only known it," he chided.
"You've given me so much already," she murmured. "I've been a big expense to you."
Jack again slipped his arm about her waist and kissed her. "There ain't any limit on my love," he declared. "I want you to be happy—"
"Don't you think I am," laughed Echo. "I'm the happiest woman on earth, Jack, and it's all you. I want to be more than a wife to you, I want to be a helpmate—but you won't let me."
A wistful expression crept over Echo's countenance.
"Who says so?" he demanded playfully, as if he would punish any man who dared make such an accusation.
Echo turned on the stool and took his hand. "I know it," she said, with emphasis. "You've been worried about something for days and days—don't tell me you haven't."
Jack opened his lips as if to contradict her. "We women learn to look beneath the surface; what is it, Jack?" she continued.