She said that she was so happy to know he was recovering; she told him how proud everybody was of Duane, what exceptional talent he possessed, how wonderfully he had painted Miller's children. She spoke to him of Roya-Neh, and how interesting it had become to them all, told him about the wild boar and her own mishaps with the guileful pig.
He smiled, watching her at times; but his wistful gaze always reverted to his son, who sat at the foot of the couch, chin balanced between his long, lean hands.
"You won't go, will you?" he whispered.
"Where, father?"
"Away."
"No, of course not."
"I mean with—Geraldine," he said feebly.
"If I did, father, we'd take you with us," he laughed.
"It is too far, my son.... You and Geraldine are going too far for me to follow.... Wait a little while."
Geraldine, blushing, bent down swiftly, her lips brushing the sick man's wasted face: