I forgot my irritation, in sheer surprise.
“Why, that's mighty good of you, Jerry—” I began, struggling to my feet.
“Oh, rot!” he exclaimed. “I shouldn't ask you if I didn't want you.”
There was no denying the truth of this, and after he had gone I sat for a long time with my pen in my mouth, reflecting as to whether or not I should go. For I had the instinct that here was another cross-roads, that more depended on my decision than I cared to admit. But even then I knew what I should do. Ridiculous not to—I told myself. How could a week or ten days with Jerry possibly affect my newborn, resolve?
Yet the prospect, now, of a visit to the Kymes' was by no means so glowing as it once would have been. For I had seen visions, I had dreamed dreams, beheld a delectable country of my very own. A year ago—nay, even a month ago—how such an invitation would have glittered!... I returned at length to my theme, over which, before Jerry's arrival, I had been working feverishly. But now the glamour had gone from it.
Presently Tom came in.
“Anyone been here?” he demanded.
“Jerry,” I told him.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted me to go home with him at Easter.”