He was a captain in the navy, and every
summer he was obliged to leave her for a few months; twice he had been
away on a long voyage. But his short absences were a blessing in
disguise, for if their relations had grown a little stale during the
winter, the summer trip invariably restored them to their former
freshness and delightfulness.
During the first summer he wrote veritable love-letters to her and
never passed a sailing ship without signalling: "Will you take
letters?" And when he came in sight of the landmarks of the Stockholm
Archipelago, he did not know how to get to her quickly enough. But she
found a way. She wired him to Landsort that she would meet him at
Dalaro. When he anchored, he saw a little blue scarf fluttering on the
verandah of the hotel: then he knew that it was she. But there was so
much to do aboard that it was evening before he could go ashore. He
saw her from his gig on the landing-stage as the bow held out his oar
to fend off; she was every bit as young, as pretty and as strong as
she had been when he left her; it was exactly as if they were
re-living the first spring days of their love. A delicious little
supper waited for him in the two little rooms she had engaged. What a
lot they had to talk about! The voyage, the children, the future! The
wine sparkled in the glasses and his kisses brought the blood to her
cheeks.
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