Hilda sat on the
arm of it and put her hands lightly on his shoulders.
"Just something Bartley. I must have you to think of through the months
and months of loneliness. I must see you. I must know about you. The
sight of you, Bartley, to see you living and happy and successful--can
I never make you understand what that means to me?" She pressed his
shoulders gently. "You see, loving some one as I love you makes the
whole world different. If I'd met you later, if I hadn't loved you so
well--but that's all over, long ago. Then came all those years without
you, lonely and hurt and discouraged; those decent young fellows and
poor Mac, and me never heeding--hard as a steel spring. And then you
came back, not caring very much, but it made no difference."
She slid to the floor beside him, as if she were too tired to sit up any
longer. Bartley bent over and took her in his arms, kissing her mouth
and her wet, tired eyes.
"Don't cry, don't cry," he whispered. "We've tortured each other enough
for tonight. Forget everything except that I am here."
"I think I have forgotten everything but that already," she murmured.
"Ah, your dear arms!"
CHAPTER VII
During the fortnight that Alexander was in London he drove himself hard.
He got through a great deal of personal business and saw a great many
men who were doing interesting things in his own profession. He disliked
to think of his visits to London as holidays, and when he was there he
worked even harder than he did at home.
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