“Yes, I see. Yes.”
“Tell you what. Tell them, don’t promise them or anything of course, but tell them I’m practicly sure to be back before they’re asleep. Tell them I’ll do my best.” He got into his coat.
“All right, Jay.”
“Yes. That’s sensible.” She reached so suddenly at his heart that by reflex he backed away; the eyes of both were startled and disturbed. With a frowning smile she teased him: “Don’t be frightened, little Timid Soul; it’s only a clean handkerchief and couldn’t possibly hurt you.”
“I’m sorry,” he laughed, “I just didn’t know what you were up to.” He pulled in his chin, frowning slightly, as he watched her take out the crumpled handkerchief and arrange the fresh one. Being fussed over embarrassed him; he was still more sharply embarrassed by the discreet white corner his wife took care to leave peeping from the pocket. His hand moved instinctively; he caught himself in time and put his hand in his pocket.
“There. You look very nice,” she said, studying him earnestly, as if he were her son. He felt rather foolish, tender towards her innocence of this motherliness, and quite flattered. He felt for a moment rather vainly sure that he did indeed look very nice, to her anyhow, and that was all he cared about.
“Well,” he said, taking out his watch. “Good Lord a mercy!” He showed her. Three-forty-one. “I didn’t think it was hardly three.”
“Oh yes. It’s very late.”
“Well, no more dawdling.” He put an arm around her shoulder and they walked to the back door. “All right, Mary. I hate to go, but-can’t be avoided.”
She opened the door and led him through, to the back porch. “You’ll catch cold,” he said. She shook her head. “No. It feels milder outside than in.”
