"Of course I do, dear."
Osborn cleared his throat and leaned forward again, his clasped hands between his knees. He looked down at the hands attentively, appearing to take an undue interest in them.
He began slowly:
"Er—speaking of things you'd enjoy, old girl, we—we've often talked about—wondered when—my ship would be coming in. Grand to see her, wouldn't it be, steaming into harbour, fine as paint, full cargo and all?"
He choked slightly over his words, as with excitement, and that shining in his eyes intensified. She caught it as for a moment he lifted them, and it took her breath away, but in the same instant she knew that this shining was not for her.
"Osborn!" she uttered, and could say no more.
He continued: "I've got something to tell you."
"I felt it when you first came in. Oh, Osborn, darling, don't keep me waiting. What is it?"
"Well—in a way—it's what we've both been thinking of—"
"The ship's—come in!"