"
"Has been?"
"Yes. This is nearly the end. I shall go down there to be near him."
"It's a long way, Philadelphia," he said moodily.
"What a child! Two hours in your car from The Retreat."
"Then I may come down?"
"May? You must!"
He was still unappeased. "But you'll be very far away from me most of
the time."
She gleamed on him, her face all joyous for his incessant want of her.
"Stupid! We shall see almost as much of each other as before. I'll be
coming over to New York two or three times a week."
Wherewith, and a promised daily telephone call, he must be content.
Not at that meeting did he broach the subject nearest his heart. He felt
that he must give Io time to adjust herself to the new-developed status
of her husband, as of one already passed out of the world. A fortnight
later he spoke out. He had gone down to The Retreat for the week-end and
she had come up from Philadelphia to meet him, for dinner. He found her
in a secluded alcove off the main dining-porch, alone. She rose and came
to him, after that one swift, sweet, precautionary glance about her with
which a woman in love assures herself of safety before she gives her
lips; tender and passionate to the yearning need of her that sprang in
his face.
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