She stopped at the sight of his face; her fear returned.
"Charley, you—you—"
He regarded her, with the life coming back into his eyes and warming his face.
"It's this heat; this pesky old heat almost got me!"
"My poor, sweet boy!" she said, with a sob of relief. "My poor, sweet boy!"
He caressed her weakly, like a man whose strength has been drained from him.
"You ain't mad at me because I kicked up at supper, are you, Charley? You know I don't mean what I say when I'm out of sorts—you know there ain't nobody like my boy!"
He kissed her.
"No; I ain't sore, honey."
"Here's your milk in the ice-box. You must have just got in before me. An' let me fix you a sardine sandwich, lovey."
"I—I ain't hungry, Lil. I—I can't eat nothin'—honest."
"I want you to, Charley—you've had a hard day."
"Yes, a hard day!" he repeated, smiling.
She prepared him a sandwich. At the sink her foot struck a small, square package bearing a jeweler's stamp. It might have dropped there from nerveless fingers or been wilfully hurled.
She picked it up wonderingly. It was neatly tied with blue cord.
"What's this?"
Her husband started.
"That? Oh, that's the little surprise I was tellin' you 'bout. I started to fix it fer to-morrow; but—but—" His voice died in his throat.
She opened it with trembling fingers.
"It's the silver bracelet!" she cried. "It's the silver bracelet!"
The unshed tears sprang to her eyes.
"Oh, Charley dear, you ain't—you ain't—" The tears came like an avalanche down an incline and choked off her speech.
He folded her to him.
"No, dear; I ain't!" he soothed.