He took off his coat and hat in the hall, and went upstairs. There was a light in his room, and he could catch a glimpse of the table laid for dinner, and flowers . . . so many flowers there seemed.
"I don't know why you chucked money away on all this tomfoolery," he said shortly, as he pushed open the door. "If you think because it's my bally birthday . . . Marie Celeste!" The last words were a great cry as his wife rose from his big chair by the fire.
For a moment he stood staring at her with disbelieving eyes. He had longed for her so much all day; had been so hurt because she had forgotten his birthday, and now—here she was!
She was very pale, but she was smiling. She had taken off her hat and coat and looked very young and sweet in her little black frock, the dark hair curling softly about her face.
Chris could not find his voice, could hardly breathe. He was so sure that if he spoke the spell would be broken and that she would vanish from his longing eyes.
Then quite suddenly, she said:
"I've come back, Chris—if you want me."
"If I want you!" He fell on his knees beside her, and his shaking arms closed fast about her.
308 He had meant to try and explain so many had planned so often in his mind what he would say to her, how he would humble himself and ask her forgiveness, but now that the time had come, there seem no need for any of it.
Kisses and broken words, and the clasp of arms that had ached with loneliness and emptiness were more eloquent than the finest speech could have been. It was only when the landlady had knocked three times to ask if she should bring dinner that Chris thought about appearances, and then he kept his wife's hand in his all the time the choice dishes which young Atkins had chosen so carefully were put upon the table.