“Every word.”
You laughed gayly. “I want you to know, sir,” you asserted, with a pretense of defiance, “that I don’t believe in love, because I have never found any that was wholly free from self-indulgence or self-interest. And I still think”—
Just then Mrs. Blodgett joined us, and inquired, “Have you told Rudolph, Maizie?”
“Yes.”
“I went to see how you were the moment I heard of your illness,” she said, with a certain challenge in her voice, “and I found that book lying on your desk just where you stopped writing from weakness. I read it, and I took it to Maizie.”
“It was kismet, I suppose,” was all I could say, too happy to think of criticism, and instantly her manner changed and she wiped her eyes.
“I had to do it,” she sobbed.
“You have been too good to me,” I answered, rising and taking her hand.
“There, there,” she continued, steadying herself. “I didn’t come out to behave like this, but to tell you to go to bed at once. I’m going to your room to see that everything is right for our invalid, but don’t you delay a minute after I’m gone,” and she disappeared through the doorway.
I turned to you and held out my hand, bidding you, “Good-night, Maizie,” and you took it, and replied, “Goodnight, Don.” Then suddenly you leaned forward, and, kissing my forehead, added, “God keep you safe for me, my darling.”