She might stay away an hour and she might stay away all day.

I could simply wait.

But it was a happy waiting.

I should see a renewal of joy in her and a bounding hope for the future when once I told any tale.

It was enough to keep me quiet for the three long hours I sat there with my face to the window, watching for the first sight of her figure on the crossing leading into our street.
When it came, it was already lunch-time, but there was no evidence of hurry in her manner; there was, rather, an almost painful hesitation.