And in the moonlight he told her why they had wanted him to go away.
"It is because I've got to fight—devils."
At first she did not understand. But he made her understand.
She was such a little thing in her yellow gown. So little and young to deal with a thing like this.
But in that moment the child became a woman. She bent over him.
"My husband," she said, "nothing can ever part us now, Barry."
So love taught her what to say, and so she comforted him.
The next morning Elizabeth Dean met Leila Dick at the station. That she was really meeting Leila Ballard was a thing, of course, of which she had no knowledge. But Leila was acutely conscious of her new estate. It seemed to her that the motor horn brayed it, that the birds sang it, that the cows mooed it, that the dogs barked it, "Leila Ballard, Leila Ballard, Leila Ballard, wife of Barry—you're not Leila Dick, you're not, you're not, you're not."
"I never knew you to be so quiet," Elizabeth said at last, curiously. "What's the matter?"
Leila brought herself back with an effort. "I like to listen," she said, "but I am usually such a chatterbox that people won't believe it."