He cared little what people would think. And, anyway, very few people were passing at that late hour in the rain. But he pulled them down, and when he came back, he held her off at arm's length. "What have you been doing to yourself, dearest? You are a feather-weight."
"Well, I've been working."
"How does it happen that you are here alone?"
"Emily had to go down to order supplies, and Margaret went to a Liberty Loan meeting. I often stay like this to count and tie."
"Don't you get dreadfully tired?"
"Yes. But I think I like to get tired. It keeps me from thinking too much."
He drew her to him. "Take off your veil," he said, almost roughly. "I want to see your hair."
Divested of her headcovering, she was more like herself, but even then he was not content. He loosed a hairpin here and there and ran his fingers through the crinkled gold. "If you knew how I've dreamed of it, Jean-Joan."
But he had not dreamed of the dearness of the little face. "My darling, you have been pining, and I didn't know it."
"Well, didn't you like my smiling letters?"