“Yes.”
“More than any one you’ve ever met or are likely to meet?”
“Yes.” Eric sighed and lapsed into silence; for the first time in ten days he felt sure of himself. “But I shan’t love you a bit,” she pouted, “if you’re cold and remote when we’re married.”
“If... All right, I won’t tease you, Ivy child, if it frightens you. What can I say to keep you from ever being frightened again? Shall I tell you that my heart and head and everything inside me were dead until a few days ago? You’ve brought me to life again...” He leaned his head against her shoulder, staring into the empty fire and talking more to himself than to her. “What d’you think it means to me to feel that this room’s alive, alive with you? When I’m called, my first thought is that in two hours I shall see you. An hour and a half, one hour... When you come in, Ivy, it’s all dark outside. It’s not what I should call easy to work with you. I want to break the typewriter and pick you up in my arms... Is it just a coincidence that I’ve happened to lunch at home every day this week? Or is it possible that I’ve been looking forward to it ever since the last moment when we were off duty together? Is it coincidence that I’ve been to the opera every night this week—Aida, ye all powerful gods! and another dose of Louise—and that I’ve sat two feet behind you so that I could see your face lit up and knew that you were happy?” Her hand stole down over his shoulder, and he seized and kissed it. “And I wonder if you’ll ever guess how amazingly empty these rooms seem when I come back at night and find you’re not here—and won’t be here till next day?”
“I know. When I get back... I pray for you, Eric. I never used to pray before. At least, it never meant anything to me, but now... I thank God for you; and I feel He understands... He understands that you’ve interceded for me. And I pray Him to forgive me and shew me some way of paying you back. And sometimes I pray Him to make me patient; and sometimes, when I’m frightened, I pray Him just to make the weeks pass quickly. Ah, my dear one!” Her fingers tightened on his wrist, and the voice at his ear trembled. “If anything happened to you!”
“Nothing’s going to, Ivy!”
“But ever? You’re sixteen years older than I am. When I’m seventy—”
“You’ll have had more than enough of me then.”
“Please God, I shall die before you, Eric!”
“Well, I’ll promise not to marry again,” he laughed. “Ivy, are you too tired to take down one more letter?”