“Why—why, I suppose Aunt Reliance will miss me.”
He looked up then. “How about me?” he asked.
“You! You?... Why—why, Bob, I don’t believe I thought of you.”
“I don’t believe you did. I am afraid you didn’t. But do you imagine I shall be—well, altogether joyful?”
She could not answer. For, all at once, she was thinking of him. It seemed strange that she had not done it before. She had not realized that her glorious trip meant the end of their companionship. If not the end, then at least a year of separation. And suddenly, with the realization, came a new feeling—a rush of feelings. She gasped.
“Why—why, Bob—” she faltered.
He had risen and was standing beside her, bending over her.
“Esther,” he pleaded, desperately, “do you suppose I shan’t be completely miserable if you go away and leave me? Why—why, you know it! You must know it! What do you suppose my knowing you and—and being with you, like this, means to me? Esther, doesn’t it mean anything to you—anything at all?”
She was beginning to comprehend what it did mean. But she knew she must not think it. It was impossible—it was insane—it was—
“Oh, don’t, Bob! Don’t!” she begged. “You—you mustn’t—”