and she put her arms round him, and clung to him very tight, as if for fear and anguish. He held her in his arms, wondering.
“Ted!” she whispered, frantic. “Ted!”
“What, my love?” he answered, becoming also afraid.
“Be good to me,” she cried. “Don’t be cruel to me.”
“No, my pet,” he said, amazed and grieved. “Why?”
“Oh, be good to me,” she sobbed.
And he held her very safe, and his heart was white-hot with love for her. His mind was amazed. He could only hold her against his chest that was white-hot with love and belief in her. So she was restored at last.
III
She refused to go to her work at Adams’s any more. Her father had to submit and she sent in her notice—she was not well. Sam Adams was ironical. But he had a curious patience. He did not fight.
In a few weeks, she and Whiston were married. She loved him with passion and worship, a fierce little abandon of love that moved him to the depths of his being, and gave him a permanent surety and sense of realness in himself. He did not trouble about himself any more: he felt he was fulfilled and now he had only the many things in the world to busy himself about. Whatever troubled him, at the bottom was surety. He had found himself in this love.
