Page:The Yellow Book - 04.djvu/75

Rh You never came to say good-night to me last night," she said reproachfully.

Farrell put up his hand and took hers.

"Dearest, you must forgive me. I—I was very tired, and had a headache."

"Ah, that was the penalty for staying up so late," she replied playfully.

Farrell smiled and patted her hand.

"But you will come to-night, won't you?" she urged.

"Dear heart, of course I will," he said, smiling indulgently. "I'll come and have a long talk with you."

His wife sighed, in part, as it seemed, with satisfaction, and leaned her chin upon his hair.

"Life is very curious, isn't it, George?" she said meditatively, her eyes gazing in abstraction at the wall. "There are so many things we don't know. I never dreamed" Farrell patted her hand again, affectionately, reassuringly.

"I couldn't have guessed," she went on, dreamily. "It is all so strange and painful, and yet not quite painful. I wonder if you understand, George."

"I think I do, dear," said he softly.

"Ah, but how can you quite? Girls are so ignorant. Do you think they ought to be told? I shouldn't have liked to be told, though. I should have been so afraid, but now somehow I'm not afraid—not quite."

A note of pain trembled through her voice; she drew a sharp breath and shivered.

"George, you don't think I shall die, do you, George? Oh, George, if I should die!"

She fell on her knees at his feet, looking into his face with searching eyes that pleaded for comfort. He drew her head