She bent down and pressed a kiss on his right hand. "If you were not in the world, Frank, if I had to be here all alone!" she whispered warmly.
"But you have all this trouble on my account," he replied, much moved.
She shook her head.
"Only do not misunderstand me," she continued, "and have patience with my faults. You will promise me that, Frank, will you not?" she urged in an anxious tone. "You see I am so perverse when I feel injured; I get as hard as a stone then and everything good seems to die out of me. I could hate those people who thrust their low ideas on me! Frank, you don't know how I have suffered from this already."
They still stood hand in hand. The snow whirled about before the window in the twilight of the short winter day. It was so still here inside, so warm and cosy.
"Frank!" she whispered.
"My Gertrude!"
"You are not angry with me?"
"No, no. We will bear with each other's faults and we will try to improve when we are all alone by our two selves."
"You have no faults," she said, proudly, in a tone of conviction, drawing closer to him.