"Nay, my lord, my dear," she replied, in a subdued passion; "but thou art so much away."
"But thou art not alone," he said, eagerly bending over her.
"A woman is always alone, Oliver, when she is away from him she loves. I think a man doth not understand that—he hath so much else—thou—thou hast so much—and I am gone right into the background of thy life!"
He took both her hands now and laid them on his heart.
"Thou art dearer to me than any creature in the world," he said. "Let that content thee."
She sighed and smiled together. By her great love for him she could measure her great pain because of him—the separations, the anxieties, the apprehension, the knowledge that she was only a part of his life, that he had now many, many other things to think of more important than her, while she had nothing but him—always him. But he could not understand.
"Well, well," she said.
"Why art thou sad, Bess?" he asked tenderly. "Is it about Dick's marriage?"
She shook her head; her gentle face flushed with the thought that came to her.