He did not hear her. That was one of the things she had found out could happen. Especially since this lot of mail had been forwarded from his bureau, letters full of such terrible news for him from Ireland. His friends were in prison--were killed. Devastation was spreading. She rose, with a new air of maturity and crossed to him. “It’s growing late.” This time she came behind his chair and bent her cheek to his. He moved absently. “Yes, sweetheart--I’ll be soon through. I was writing to Larry’s widow, poor girl. There seemed so much to say.” “I know, but you must stop.” She used the appeal she had already learned to use when he was bound to tax his fragile strength. “You’ll never get back there unless you rest more.” “Oh, yes I will. And when I do get back--how I’m going to start some things in motion. It will be a terrible swift motion too. I’ve lost a sad amount of time.” Freda laughed and he looked at her. It was a laugh of pure amusement, and so contagious that he joined her, jumping up from the letter to kiss her. “No--you laughing rogue--not time lost in winning my bride. Mocker.” Freda held him at arms length teasingly. “I have you for a minute now, haven’t I?” “You always have me. You don’t mind, darling, that they need me? You wouldn’t--not share it with me?” “Of course I share it. And I know I have you--when you remember me.” He buried his lips in her hair and then drew her to his knees. “Sweetheart, if you could know how they suffer--when you see--” She composed herself to listen, knowing how it would be. He would hold her close like this and tighter and tighter his arms would feel as he explained and related. Then, in his excitement, he would loose her and leave her, gently, while he paced up and down the room and forgot the tenants in the next room and herself and everything in his impassioned oratory. So he was. That was Gregory. When he put her down she turned on the light and picked up her sewing. It was not that she did not listen willingly. She did. If she could not kindle in his flame she was warmed in the glow of it. She too had come to care. Perhaps when they reached Ireland and she saw for herself she would kindle too--she rather hoped so. He stopped talking and his mind, relaxed, shot back to her. “Do you feel well to-night, darling?” “Of course. I’m the most indomitably healthy person you ever knew. I can’t help it.” “You’re so sweetly healthy that I keep forgetting to take care of you.” She tossed the blouse from her restlessly and stretched her long arms back of her head to make a cushion.