The men talked on. Peter quietly followed Miranda into the garden, unnoticed except by his mother.
Mrs. Paragon had read the lines of her son's face. She sighed as he slipped away, knowing that at that moment the world held for Peter but one thing really precious. She smiled, not bitterly, but with indulgence, upon the talking fathers.
Peter and Miranda sat for many minutes without a word. The evening was perfect, the shining of stars in a violet sky mocked on earth with the shining of great clusters of evening primrose. How full the night seemed! The stars were very secret, but the secret waited to be told.
"I shall not be able to bear it," said Miranda suddenly.
"Four days," said Peter.
"But after that."
"Eight weeks at a time."
But Miranda's heart sank at the eternity of eight weeks.
Protesting with her, Peter at last said:
"I'm always with you, Miranda."