“Will you promise to go and rest?”
“Yes. If you say so.”
She was acquiescent and humble. Her eyes were soft, faithful, childlike.
“I've suffered so, Jud.”
“I know.”
“You don't hate me, do you?”
“Why should I? Just remember this: while you were carrying this burden, I was happier than I'd ever been. I'll tell you about it some time.”
She got up, and he perceived that she expected him again to take her in his arms. He felt ridiculous and resentful, and rather as though he was expected to kiss the hand that had beaten him, but when she came close to him he put an arm around her shoulders.
“Poor Bev!” he said. “We've made pretty much a mess of it, haven't we?”
He patted her and let her go, and her eyes followed him as he left the room. The elder brotherliness of that embrace had told her the truth as he could never have hurt her in words. She went back to the chair where he had sat, and leaned her cheek against it.