"Often I've longed for a winter of sketching in such a wild and lonely spot." "And then," said Joan, "when Donald writes you must be here." "I must be here," said Kenny.
That he felt was the kindest way.

Surely, surely it was the kindest.
It saved Joan the painful thought of permanent separation.

In a month without him she would soon forget.

A month, he knew of old, worked wonders.

Absence, he had proved again and again, never made a heart grow fonder.