They stood at the window, watching silently, intently. She did not speak, until another load of green-blue metal came moving across the sky. The the first words she said were not about rail, track or an order completed on time. She said, as if greeting a new phenomenon of nature:
He noticed that, but said nothing. He glanced at her, then turned back to the window.
“Hank, this is great.”
He said it simply, openly. There was no flattered pleasure in his voice, and no modesty. This, she knew, was a tribute to her, the rarest one person could pay another: the tribute of feeling free to acknowledge one’s own greatness, knowing that it is understood.