"You."
"Me?" Jimmie inquired blankly, wondering what he had been doing now.
"I'm afraid of the time when you get all well and yourself again. You'll want to wander."
"Like Jethniah, eh? There now, what did I tell you? That's what comes of listening to him. You think that, like him, the whole male world is uncertain, coy and hard to please."
"Please, Jimmie, don't head me off. I'm afraid. I suppose love makes cowards of us all. Do you remember a time when I said that I wouldn't want to keep even a kitten that didn't want to stay?"
"Oh, but that was before we were married!" he explained airily. "We all talk turkey at a time like that. It's the last chance we get. And we spend the rest of our lives trying to pay the bets."
"Jimmie."
"Yes, dear?"
"Do you remember the lady I saw you talking with that day in the Square?"
"Sure," said Jimmie lightly, "Jean Bradley"—They were far away now, it seemed to him, and the name meant nothing to either of them—, "what about her?"