She gave a little cry, then–half laughter, half sob. She glanced down at the cup beside her plate. It was half full of coffee, cold now, and undrunk. “Orville!” she marveled. “I never knew you noticed things like that! Why, you’re almost poetic!”

“Poetic!” He grinned down at her, wryly. “Me!”

Then, more seriously, “Let’s hear it, Terry. What’s wrong?”

She hesitated a moment, bewildered; then, “Oh, nothing! Nothing’s wrong, Orville. Everything’s right. I’ve been an awful fool, Orville. But I’m going to be different. If you’ll just be patient and—-and help me. Will you, Orville? Will you?”
His answer was a long laugh, full-throated, happy; and then, “Help you! Why, girl, we’re going to start all over again. And it isn’t going to be. Here, we’re off!’ it’s going to be a case of `We’re on!'”
“Are you sure, Orville? Really sure? It means—-”
“It means that we’ve been a couple of ninnies, but we’re going to be
happy. We’ve got each other. And we’ve got our home. We’ve got to
fight, Terry, of course. Everybody has to fight–for happiness, and for
each other, and for their home. But we’ll win out. You bet we’ll win out!”