A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful author and his wife.
ld matter desperately, horribly, appallingly in one's own. Therefore, nothing will ever induce me to place the plot of a novel of mine, in surroundings with which I am not completely familiar. Helen--I must go to Central Africa."
THE SOB OF THE WOMAN
Helen took off her riding-hat, and passed her fingers through the abundant waves of her hair.
"How long would it take you, Ronnie?" "Well--including the journey out, and the journey back, I ought to have a clear seven months. If we could get off in a fortnight, we might be back early in November; anyway, in plenty of time for Christmas."
"Why do you say 'we,' darling?"
"Why not say 'we'? We always do, don't we?"
"Yes, dear. For three happy years it has always been 'we,' in everything. We have not been parted for longer than twelve hours at a time, Ronnie. But I fear Central Africa cannot be 'we.' I do not feel that I could go out there with you."
"Helen! Why not? I thought you would be keen