and he a youth again, his dream come true.... Would
she have come with him to-night if she hadn't grown weary of playing
flapper? She knew what she meant to him. He had told her often enough.
Too often, perhaps. He had taken the surprise of it away, discounted
the romance..

He got up and gave her some salad and stood by her for a moment. He was
like a moth hovering about a lamp.

She smiled up at him again--homesick for the old bedroom and the old
trees, eager to sit in her grand father's room and read the paper to
him. He was old and out of life and so was she. Oh, Martin, Martin. Why
couldn't he have waited a little while longer?

The shock of touching her fingers as she took the salad plate sent the
blood to Gilbert's brain. But he reined himself in. He was afraid to
come to the point yet. Life was too good like this. The abyss yawned at
their feet. He would turn his back to it and see only the outstretched
landscape of hope.

They ate very little, and Joan ignored her glass. Gilbert frequently
filled his own, but he might just as well have been drinking water. He
was already drunk with love.

Finally, after a long silence, Joan pushed her chair back and got up.

Instantly he was in front of her, with his back to the door. "Joan," he
said, and held out his hands in supplication.

"Don't you think we ought to drive home now?" she asked.

"Home?"

"Yes. It must be getting late."

"Not yet," he said, steadying his voice. "Time is ours. Don't hurry."

He went down suddenly on to his knees and kissed her feet.

At any other time, in any other mood, the action would have stirred her
sense of the ridiculous. She would have laughed and whipped him with
sarcasm. He had done exuberant things before and left her unmoved
except to mirth. But this time she raised him up without a word, and he
answered her touch with curious unresistance, like a man hypnotized and
stood speechless, but with eyes that were filled with eloquence.

"Be good to-night, Gilbert," she said. "I've ... I've been awfully hurt
to-day and I feel tired and worn--not up to fencing with you."

The word "fencing" didn't strike home at first, nor did he gather at
once from her simple appeal that she had not come in the mood that he
had persuaded himself was hers.

"This is the first time that you've given me even an hour since you
drew me to the Hosacks," he said. "Be generous. Don't do things by
halves."

She could say nothing to that. She w