"No. I'm not sick. But I want to talk."
"About what?"
"This—" She showed him the paper with its caption, "For Anne."
"Ridgeley, did you write it because I was—afraid?" her hand went out to him.
His own went over it. "I think I wrote it because I was afraid."
"You?"
His grip almost hurt her. "My dear, my dear, I haven't believed in things. How could I ... with all the facts that men like me have to deal with? But when I faced ... losing you...! love's got to be eternal ..."
"Ridgeley."
"I won't ... lose you. Oh, I know. We've grown apart. I don't know how a man is going to help it ... in this darned whirlpool.... But you've always been right ... here.... I've felt I might ... have you, if I ever had time ..." his voice broke.
"And I thought you didn't care."