volume of "Amy's" poems. "The blue tiles of the sky" is in it, and other things I like, and you'll like, too, I think. I've marked the things I liked—lightly, in pencil. You can rub the marks out if you don't agree.'
'But, I'
For a moment he was afraid she was going to refuse the book. It would have hurt him terribly if she had.
Perhaps she surmised it, for suddenly she smiled, and reached out her hand. 'Thank you so much. I shall love reading it.'
And he replied quickly, impulsively, in a voice she remembered afterward, 'I shall love having you!' The clock struck five. 'I must go,' he broke off.
'But,' she laughed, 'you haven't even sat down yet!'
They were still standing by the chrysanthemums, where Cicely had left them half an hour ago. It hadn't occurred to them to sit down.
'I will next time,' he laughed at her. 'Sometimes I'm out this way, and I shall drop in.' He didn't ask her if he might—just made the statement, adding quickly, before she could object, 'Good-bye. It's been wonderful to see you,' and held out his hand.
She put her own on it. 'Good-bye' she smiled at him.
And suddenly he did such a strange, unprece-
