Burned Bridges

Sophie smiled up at him, and was kissed for her pains.

"Name the condition."

"That you love me. I've waited a long time for it."

"I've always loved you," she said gravely. "Sometimes more, sometimes

less. I haven't always believed we could be happy together. Sometimes I

have been positive we couldn't. But I've always measured other men by

you, and none of them quite measured up. That was why it stung me so to

see you so indifferent about the war. Probably if you had talked about

it to me, if I had known you were thinking of going, I should have been

afraid you would go, I should have been afraid for you. But you seemed

always so unconcerned. It maddened me to think I cared so much for a man

who cared nothing about wrongs and injustices, who could sit contentedly

at home while other men sacrificed themselves. My dear, I'm afraid I'm

an erratic person, a woman whose heart and head are nearly always at

odds."

Thompson laughed, looking down at her with an air of pride.

"That is to say you would always rather be sure than sorry," he

remarked. "Well, you can be sure of one thing, Sophie. You can't admit

that you really do care for me and then run away, as you did at Lone

Moose. I have managed to stand on my own feet at last, and your penalty

for liking me and managing to conceal the fact these many moons is that

you must stand with me."

She drew his face down to her and kissed it. Thompson held her fast.

"I can stand a lot of that," he said happily.

"You may have to," she murmured. "I am a woman, not a bisque doll. And

I've waited a long time for the right man."