Potch's grip on her hand tightened.
"You're you—and you're here. That's enough for us!" he said.
Sophie sighed. "I never dreamt everybody would be so good. You and Michael I knew would—but the others ... I thought they'd remember ... and disapprove of me, Potch.... Mrs. Watty"—a smile showed faintly in her eyes—"I thought she'd see to that."
"I daresay she's done her best" Potch said, with a memory of Watty's valiant bearing and angry, bright eyes when he came into the hut. "Watty was vexed ... she wouldn't come with him to-night."
"Was he?"
Potch nodded. "What you didn't reck'n on," he said, "was that all of us here ... we—we love you, Sophie, and we're glad you're back again."
Her eyes met him in a straight, clear glance.
"You and Michael," she said, "I knew you loved me, Potch...."
"You know how it's always been with me," Potch said, grateful that he might talk of his love, although he had been afraid to since she had cried, fearing thought of it stirred that unknown source of distress. "But I won't get in your way here, Sophie, because of that. I won't bother you ... I want just to stand by—and help you all I know how."
"I love you, too, Potch," Sophie said; "but there are so many ways of loving. I love you because you love me; because your love is the one sure thing in the world for me.... I've thought of it when I've been hurt and lonely.... I came back because it was here ... and you were here."