He set to with a will, and when he finished, Joan was ready to leave.
They walked home in almost-silence. Joan knew better than to press him
concerning tales of his activities while on the mission, and she was
wise enough to know better than to speak of other men and other fun
to a man who has been away and at work. Nothing had happened to her
worth mentioning, and the rest of her life had been discussed with Guy
Maynard long ago.
As for Guy, he felt at ease. He did not know it; he was unaware of the
reason for his better-feeling. He did know that the tightness was gone
from the muscles across his stomach, and he felt less like running
and hiding than he had in hours. He wondered whether the coffee and
excellent breakfast had done it, and then forgot about it. He felt too
good to wonder why.
They walked in silence and partly in understanding companionship.
Maynard knew that he needed no "act" to impress Joan. She would accept
him as he was. And when Joan spoke, she directed her thought at him,
which made him feel at ease.
Together they entered Mother Andrew's apartments, and as Joan did not
dismiss him, he followed up the stairs to the door of her apartment.
She fumbled with the key and the door swung open.
"Well," he said, extending a hand, "it's been nice seeing you again."
Joan took the hand and gave it a gentle pressure. She smiled up at him
mischievously and said: "Is that the best you can do?" She laughed, but
her laugh was gentle.
Instinctively, Guy put his free hand on her shoulder, and her head went
back so that she faced him squarely. "You know, I think you've been
lonely," she told him. She did not evade him, but went into his arms
willingly, almost eagerly.