There was an unspoken agreement between them that it was better to have their meals like this, looking at the fire, than opposite each other at the big table—it made Cornelius less self-conscious, and spared her the anguish of watching his clumsy efforts to get a spoon into his mouth.

“You’re so much better, darling—it’s like a miracle!” she said when she was settled on the little green-velvet sofa with her tray. “How did you ever learn to be so patient, impatient man?”

“You learn what you have to learn, I guess.”

“Some people can’t. Just butt their heads against the wall.”

There was a pause while Cornelius got down some soup, and Christina, ravenous after the morning’s work, ate and drank greedily. Then he said, “Seems as if I’ve seen more just sitting here than I ever did in my life—that mountain when I wake up.…” Their bedroom faced west.

“We’ve always been so busy. It’s good not to be. I had a marvelous morning planting those bulbs—just pure heaven!”

She laid her tray down and lit a cigarette and swung her feet up on the sofa to rest her knee.

“You know, Cornelius, I’m glad we never did anything to the Ark.”

“Like what?” he grumbled, already on the defensive.

“Well, you know, like painting the walls white or something. It’s dark, and some people, I’m sure, think it’s gloomy. But it’s a lair. It’s ourselves. The children would hate to have it changed.”

“Children, I have noticed, are conservative when it comes to their parents.”

“When I first married you I wanted to change it. I thought when your parents died I’d make it mine. Now I’m glad we didn’t,” she said, looking into the fire. “Cornelius, let’s stay. Let’s not go back to town.”

“Ever?” He raised his eyebrows and laughed.

“I’ve always wanted to spend a winter here—a whole year—have all the seasons—not move. Can’t we?”

“Dr. Paine—we’ll ask him.”

“Yes, he may want you in the hospital for therapy now and then, but we could take you down easily and come back.”

“We’ll see,” Cornelius murmured.

He was half asleep, and Christina tiptoed out with the trays, covered him with a steamer rug, and stooped down to kiss his hand.

CHRISTINA’S JOURNAL—November 1