She remained as she was, and silent.
"On the way back, I thought of you, of nothing else, no one else but you. My thoughts went back to our acquaintance in Cincinnati, and the day we danced and I—I—kissed you, Mildred." He paused again, and gazed out over the rows of buildings below. "And then I realized what has been wrong with me ever since, and all my life.... It was because I have been hungry. I have been starving to death these many years for love, Mildred, love and understanding.... I am still hungry, and thirsty; but at last a hope has come to me. A hope that it will not long continue as it has these many years. But withal, I have thought of something else too. And that is, I want to go home. I want to go home to stay. I don't like it here; I don't like it anywhere, but in the Rosebud Country."
"The Rosebud Country?" she echoed, sitting erect and turning slightly.
"Yes, Mildred, The Rosebud Country." He paused again, and the ticking of his watch was quite audible to both. "Yes," he said presently, and after a time, in which he seemed to be engaged in deep thought, he resumed, "and I was going to say that I have decided to go back." He moved and stood beside her. The sinking sun now played a last evening ray across her face, and in turning from it, she happened to look up and into his face. He saw her now as he had never seen her before. Something she saw caused her to catch her breath and venture another look. His eyes appeared to see something far away, and she continued to stare at him.
"Yes, Mildred," he started again, and now his voice became low and strange. She understood, and knew that he was living in the past, oblivious to her presence. She listened with a strange rapture. "I've decided to go back to that land beyond the Big Muddy. Back to that little reservation, the name of which I love. But Mildred, it depends." He halted and looked down into her face. Their eyes met now, and both seemed hypnotized for they continued to stare at each other, becoming more enraptured. "It depends," said he, very slowly, "upon you." She looked away, but he reached and caught her hand. He backed up until he reached the desk, upon which he seated himself. He looked at her now pleadingly. She gave one glance, and caught the same look she had seen but once before, more than a year before, and before he knew. He pulled her gently from the chair, and placed her beside him on the desk.
"It depends upon you Mildred!" And still she said nothing.
"Out there, Mildred, I longed for you. Yes, it was you, you! These many years I waited for you. At last I have found you. Oh, I have found you, the one Woman. And now," he said this in a strong voice, "I'm through. I'm through, and ready to go back, if you will go with me. Do you hear? I mean, that I love you Mildred. Love you with all the passion of a hungry heart." He paused again.
"And you have had a hard time, little girl, oh you've had a hard time. I know. But it's all over now, dear. Yes, it's all over now. There is no society that we are under obligation to; there are no pretentious persons to make us false to our convictions; there is nothing but impulse to direct us."
"Oh, Sidney," he heard her say with a slight tremble. His arm stole about her waist, and she did not remove it. She looked up into his eyes and saw him with trust. "And you'll go?" he said and waited.
"Do you mean it Sidney? Oh, Sidney, do you mean it?" Her voice now was low, strained, strangely wistful, and then, as if suddenly remembering something she had apparently forgotten, her eyes took on an expression of mute appeal, like that of a hunted animal. Her form became tense, while a spasm of agony contracted her features as she moaned: