"Would you like to come?" he asked. "Would you like to come home to the
Ry?"
With a cry she flung herself upon him. "Rhodo! Rhodo!" she exclaimed, and
now the tears broke forth, and her body shook with sobs.
A few moments later he said to her: "It's fifteen years since you kissed
me last. I thought you were ashamed of old Rhodo."
She did not answer, but looked at him with eyes streaming, drawing back
from him. Her embrace was astonishing even to herself, for as a child
Rhodo had been a figure of awe to her, and the feeling had deepened as
the years had gone on, knowing as she did his work throughout the world
for the Ry of Rys. In his face was secrecy, knowledge, and some tragic
underthing which gave him, apart from his office, a singular loneliness
of figure and manner. He was so closely knit in form; there was such
concentration in face, bearing and gesture, that the isolation of his
position was greatly deepened.
"No, you never kissed me after you were old enough to like or dislike,"
he said with mournful and ironical reflection.
There crept into his face a kind of yearning such as one might feel who
beheld afar off a promised land, and yet was denied its joys. Rhodo was
wifeless, childless, and had been so for forty years.
Pages:
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398