All the memories of Godfrey rushed in a confused
heap upon her, and overwhelmed her. She ran to him, and the same
moment was in his arms, with her head on his shoulder, weeping
tears of such gladness as she had not known since the first week
of her marriage.
Neither spoke for some time; Letty could not because she was
crying, and Godfrey would not because he did not want to cry.
Those few moments were pure, simple happiness to both of them; to
Letty, because she had loved him from childhood, and hoped that
all was to be as of old between them; to Godfrey, because, for
the moment, he had forgotten himself, and had neither thought of
injury nor hope of love, remembering only the old days and the
Letty that used to be. It may seem strange that, having never
once embraced her all the time they lived together, he should do
so now; but Letty's love would any time have responded to the
least show of affection, and when, at the sight of his face, into
which memory had called up all his tenderness, she rushed into
his arms, how could he help kissing her? The pity was that he had
not kissed her long before. Or was it a pity? I think not.
But the embrace could not be a long one. Godfrey was the first to
relax its strain, and Letty responded with an instant collapse;
for instantly she feared she had done it all, and disgusted
Godfrey. But he led her gently to the sofa, and sat down beside
her on the hard old slippery horsehair.
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