She sat silent, looking into the fire.
“You know that I’m right, don’t you, dear?”
“Yes, I do, Evans. I thought of it, too, last night. And it seems like this to me. If we can just be friends—without bothering with—anything else—it will be easier, won’t it?”
“I can’t tell you how gladly I’d bother, as you call it. But it wouldn’t be fair. You are young, and you have a right to happiness. I’d be a shadow on your—future——”
“Please don’t——”
He dropped on the rug at her feet. “Well, we’ll leave it at that. We’re friends, forever,” he reached up and took her hands in his, “forever?”
“For better, for worse—for richer, for poorer?”
“Of course——”
They stared into the fire, and then he said softly, “Well, that’s enough for me, my dear, that’s enough for me——” and after a while he began to speak in broken sentences. “‘Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest.... After so many hours of toil and quest.... A famished pilgrim....’ That’s Keats, my dear. Jane, do you know that you are food and drink?”