“Of course, Betty, you must go.  But don’t look so distressed.  I must have been selfish if I gave you the impression that I would not let you go.  It is only that I love so having you, you are such a rock, and oh! it seems like some awful and terrible dream we have been through, doesn’t it?  Sara asked for her darling bunny today.  Think what that means!  Darling Betty, I pray that some great happiness may come to you some day.  I begin to believe that the greatest joys come through the greatest sorrows.”

“Don’t, Diana,” I whispered.  “I can’t bear you to be too kind.  I suppose it’s all we’ve been through, but I feel.”

“I know, Betty,” she whispered.  “I lie here too tired to do anything but thank God.  I ache with thankfulness, for you among other blessings.  Come back soon.”

“What did Diana say?” asked David, who was waiting outside the door.  “Did she understand?”

“Understand?  Did you ever know a time when Diana didn’t understand?”

I went.  Oh, the joy of setting out towards home!  That ridiculously small house in Chelsea in which were centered all my hopes.  Some word might be there waiting for me.  Nannie might have thought nothing of sufficient importance to forward at such a moment.  How I hoped that was it, and that it might be there, else all my hopes were shattered.

I opened the door with my latchkey.  I looked.  No telegram lay on the table; that I saw at a glance.  Then Nannie appeared.  She was crying.

“Nannie,” I said, “don’t cry, she is much better, and is going to get quite well; only I had to come home.”

How explain to Nannie that I had left Sara and Diana at such a moment!

“Your bat’s crooked,” said Nannie.

“You ridiculous old person,” I said, “what does that matter?” Nannie sniffed.  I put my hat straight.  “Is that better?”

“Yes, it’s better, it’ll do,” she answered, not quite satisfied, evidently.  I wondered why she asked no questions.  Why had I come home to this?  No wonder David had been surprised at my leaving Diana!  What was the use?

Then Nannie said with a startling suddenness, “Some one is waiting for you upstairs.”

“Someone for me, Nannie.  What do you mean?”

“He’s waiting,” she said, between laughter and sobs.  “He’s waiting.”

I often wonder how I had the strength to go upstairs and open the door.  But I did, and there surely enough he stood, only a few feet of green-painted boards separating us.  How I crossed them I never knew.  He came halfway, no doubt.

I should never have done the journey alone, and I wondered too how it was we met as lovers!  That was the most wonderful part of all.  How, when I did not even know that he cared, could it have happened?  It was all too wonderful, and I was too dazed with happiness to question anything at the moment.  I only knew that the world had become a paradise, and that the past years of doubt and perplexity had fallen away like a disused garment.