"I cannot tell," I replied. "It may be silly, morbid, but I feel as though—one or two things might be made clear to me if I knew."
He did not speak for a long time. His back was to me, and I could not see his face. Presently he said, without looking round, "I'll go. I cannot refuse you anything, Marg. But I don't like it. The chicken may be gone."
"Gone?"
"Well—dead."
"And if it is," I said softly, "I shan't mind. I shall know—and be satisfied."
He came and knelt by the couch.
"But won't you be lonely, girl?"
I shook my head.
"Are you better to-day, sweetheart? Do you think you are any stronger? That wedding was too much for you."
Each day my dear one abuses poor Jane's wedding. I had been overtired that night, faint, with a singing in my cars and the sound of many waters surging around me. And each day also he says, "You are a little stronger, I think, don't you?" But he does not wait for an answer. Sometimes it is better to leave a question unanswered.