“Well, never mind. You can hear all these details some other time.”
“After we’re married,—you will marry me, won’t you, Elsie,—dearest! you,—you—haven’t married anybody else, have you?”
“No!” she cried, frightened at the grasp on her arm. But her assurance restored his poise.
“Forgive me, dear. I’m weak from being housed and tortured so long. Come, can we go away from this dreadful place?”
“Yes, we will. And I will marry you, of course. Haven’t I waited for you? But, we can’t get the money, Kim, it’s too late. Today’s my birthday, and the time is up.”
“Never mind, dear heart. I’ll make money enough for us. Don’t worry. I’ve finished my play since I’ve been here,—and it’s a corker! I had to work on it to keep from losing my mind. I almost did, anyway. But they let me have paper and pencil, and I finished the thing some time ago. Oh, Elsie, it has been the most unutterable hell!”
“Yes, dearest, but I’ll make a Heaven for you that will make you forget it all.”
“You shall, my beloved. I’ve forgotten it already! The sight of your dear face has blotted it all out.”
“You’re awfully thin, Kim, but otherwise you look just the same.”
“Good! I feared I’d be but a small remnant of my former beauty! Come on, girl, darling; let’s go home. Lord, I don’t know a thing that’s going on,—and I don’t much care. I’ve got you,—and some day I shall have a go at Whiting,—but I’m too happy now to tackle him. Is he about?”