"Jim," she said, her heart choking her, "will you take Anna and me with you? I love you—"
There was time for no more. They were in each other's arms, laughing, crying, murmuring now and then an incoherent word. Julia clung to her husband like a storm-driven bird; it seemed to her that her heart would burst in its ecstasy of content; if the big arms about her had crushed breath from her body she would have died uncaring.
Jim kissed her wet cheeks, her tumbled hair, her red lips that so willingly met his own. And when at last the tears were dry, and they could speak and could look at each other, there was no need for words. Jim sat on the couch, and Julia sat on his knee, with one arm laid loosely about his neck in a fashion they had loved years ago, and what they said depended chiefly upon their eyes and the tones of their voice.
"Oh, Jim—Jim!" Julia rested her cheek against his, "I have needed you so!"
Jim tightened an arm about her.
"I adore you," he said simply, unashamed of his wet eyes. "Do you love me?" To this Julia made no answer but a long sigh of utter content.
"Do you?" repeated Jim, after an interval.
"Does this look as if I did?" Julia murmured, not moving.
Silence again, and then Jim said, with a great sigh:
"Oh, Petty, what a long, long time!"