"
"You're not going to be--I won't let you. Haven't you learned that
sometimes we have to wait; that we can't always be going on? Just moor
your soul at the landing place, and when the hour comes, you'll swing
out into the current again. Much of the driftwood is only craft that
broke away from the landing."
He smiled, for her fancy pleased him. An abiding sense of companionship
crept into his loneliness; his isolation seemed to be shared. "And
you'll stay at the landing with me," he whispered, "until the time comes
to set sail again?"
"Yes."
"And--after the worst that can come--is over, we'll make it right with
the world and go abroad together?"
"Yes." Her voice was very low now.
"And we'll be the best of friends, for always?"
"Yes--the best of friends in all the world."
"And you'll promise me that, if you're ever sorry, you'll come straight
and tell me--that you'll ask me to set you free?"
"I promise."
"Then everything is all right between you and me?"
"Yes, but I'm ashamed--bitterly ashamed."
"You mustn't be, for I'm very glad. We'll try to forget the wreckage
together.
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