“I was only thinking—one of the girls said—said you didn't love me, John, she said—-” Hunch tried to break in, but she went on, “you weren't going to—that we'd never get married. And you—you never said anything about getting married, John.” Hunch looked over her head at the wall. He could not tell her that he had not allowed himself to think about it, that he had been drifting steadily farther from the thought of it. “And I thought maybe you'd speak about it, and we'd talk about a house—and I wanted that—that one on the front page with the shingles on the front. It's a beautiful house, John.”
Hunch stood silent for a long time.
“Why don't you say something? Oh, John, it isn't true, is it? You do love me, John?”
“No,” said Hunch, “it ain't true. We'll be married just as soon as you're ready, Jess.”
She did not look up for a long time. When she did, her eyes were still wet.
“Don't you think it would be kind of fun, John, to talk about the house?”
They went over the plans, sitting on the sofa by the front window, and talked out every detail. Hunch agreed with nearly all of Jess's suggestions, even to the grate in the front room, an expensive feature.
When they were out in the entry, and Hunch was putting on his ulster, Jess stood before him with her back against the door.
“Say, do you want me to tell you something?”
“Course.”