"What, Athalie?"

"Make so many promises--plans. I--am afraid of promises."

He turned very red: "What on earth have I done to you!"

"Nothing--yet."

"Yes I have! I once made you unhappy; I made you distrust me--"

"No:--that is all over now. Only--if it happened again--I should
really--miss you--very much--C. Bailey, Junior.... So don't promise me
too much--now.... Promise a little--each time you come--if you care
to."

In the silence that grew between them the alarm went off with a
startling clangour that brought them both to their feet.

It was midnight.

"I set it to wake myself before my sisters came in," she explained
with a smile. "I usually have something prepared for them to eat when
they've been out."

"I suppose they do the same for you," he said, looking at her rather
steadily.

"I don't go out in the evening."

"You do sometimes."

"Very seldom.... Do you know, C. Bailey, Junior, I have never been out
in the evening with a man?"

"What?"

"Never."

"Why?"

"I suppose," she admitted with habitual honesty, "it's because I don't
know any men with whom I'd care to be seen in the evening. I don't
like ordinary people."

"How about me?" he asked, laughing.

She merely smiled.

CHAPTER VII

Doris came in about midnight, her coat and hat plastered with sleet,
her shoes soaking. She looked rather forlornly at the bowl of hot milk
and crackers which Athalie brought from the kitchenette.

"I'd give next week's salary for a steak," she said, taking the bowl
and warming her chilled hands on it.

"You know what meat costs," said Athalie. "I'd give it to you for
supper if I could."

Doris seated herself by the radiator; Athalie knelt and drew off the
wet shoes, unbuttoned the garters and rolled the stockings from the
icy feet.

"I had another chance to-night: they were college boys: some of the
girls went--" remarked Doris disjointedly, forcing herself to eat the
crackers and milk because it was hot, and snuggling into the knitted
slippers which Athalie brought. After a moment or two she lifted her
pretty, impudent face and sniffed inquiringly.

"_Who's_ been smoking? You?"

"No."

"Who? Genevieve?"

"No. Who do you suppose called?"

"Search _me_."

"C. Bailey, Junior!"

Doris looked blank, then: "Oh, that boy you had an affair with about a
hundred years ago?"

"That same boy," said Athalie, smiling.

"He'll come again next century I suppose--like a comet," shr