Ydis, Ydis!
"Your wife?"
I nodded. "We were only married for three years. My daughter is still alive; she's going on twelve now. But I haven't seen her for over two years. She's not on Earth. I wonder if she even thinks of me."
"Con," said Barbara, very softly and gravely, "you can't go on mourning a woman forever."
"I'm not. Forget it. I shouldn't have spoken about it."
"You needed to. That's all right."
"My girl ought to have a mother—" The words came of themselves. What followed thereafter seemed also to happen without my willing it.
Presently Barbara stood back from me. She was laughing, low and sweet and joyous. "Con, you old sourpuss, cheer up! It isn't that bad, you know!"
I managed a wry grin, though it seemed to need all the energies left in me. "You look so happy your fool self that I have to counter-balance it."
"Con, if you knew how I'd been hoping!"