THE SHADOWY THIRD
This evening, watching her head and hands in the circle of light, he could hardly keep at the other side of the hearthrug from her. She was preoccupied, worked very slowly; at intervals she smoothed out her sewing on her knee, with her head on one side. Pussy was long-sighted, and always looked at things from as far away as possible. When he spoke, her intent eyes fixed themselves on him unseeingly.
"What are you thinking about, Pussy?"
She evidently did not wish to tell him. She smiled, looked round the room a little fearfully, smiled again and took up her work.
"Pussy?"
"Oh, I don't know; I'm so happy. I'm so glad to have you back. I wonder if anyone was ever so happy."
"Then why do you look so sad?"
"I was thinking it would be so terrible not to be happy. I was trying to imagine what I'd feel like if you didn't care."
"Didn't care!"
"I—I couldn't imagine it," she admitted. He could no longer keep the length of the hearthrug between them when she smiled
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