"Well Marian, my play-time is over for the present," Thatcher remarked as he folded a cable he had just received and placed it in his pocket. "They need me at the office, so I'll sail on Monday. There's no reason for you to leave until later unless you wish to."
She looked up at him with an expression of such real disappointment that he felt the unspoken reproach.
"We have stayed a month longer than we intended, as it is," he explained, "and my going need not hasten your plans at all."
"I don't want you to return alone, Harry, and I loathe the thought of turning my back on this enchanting spot. Truly, each day makes it more difficult to leave it."
"Then if you don't go at once the problem may become serious," he laughed.
"You are so different down here, Harry, I hate to give you up to business again. That is a wife's real rival; I'm jealous of it."
"A rival which has made our pleasures possible, so you should be friends. Only a few years more of it, little woman, and then you may plan my days as well as yours. Then we'll have one long play-time together."
"You've been saying that for five years," she protested petulantly; "but we seem to come no nearer. Haven't we enough to do that now?"
"Who shall say what 'enough' really is?" he smiled, taking her hand in his and looking with affection into her deep eyes. "That isn't what holds me; it takes time to work out of the old interests without serious loss, Marian, and present conditions aren't helpful."