"Westlake's all right. You've just made up your mind not to like the people."
She hated him as he began to write again; they were hard against each other, and far apart. I have ruined my life, she thought. And Joe thought, oh, Evelyn, keep still and stop being so sorry for yourself. They were strangers, lost to each other, as they said good night.
But hearing her crying in the dark, he came to comfort her.
"Oh, Joe, Joe, is it all right again?"
"Of course it is—everything's all right. Don't cry, my own."
"Do you love me again?"
"I always loved you."
"We must never lose each other that way again, never, never! Hold me! Hold me closer, Joe. We might lose the way back to each other!"
Waves of the night lifted them off the jagged day, floated them out into the dark, the deep.
"Well, Hatty, have you heard our thrilling news? . . . No, I haven't been waited on. I want some broad pale-pink satin ribbon, please . . . no, really pale pink. If she calls that pale, I wonder what she calls bright! Joe has a little girl!"
"No! A little girl! How marvelous!" Nothing else could have surprised me, Miss Butterfield's tone
