the Kimballs were in the parlour. "Tell her I'll only keep her a moment."
He saw her come downstairs, as if from the isolation of her bedroom. He held out his hand to her from the threshold. He said, in a rush: "I've come to say good-bye. I'm starting, in the morning, for New York—with Conroy. We're leaving college. If you write to us at the General Post Office, New York—or if you're there—to send me your address. We leave to-morrow morning."
She cried, under her breath, "You're not!"
He smiled at her reassuringly, feeling the startled grip of her fingers, but unable to see her face because she had her back to the dim light. "Our baggage is at the station."
She backed him out on the porch and shut the door behind her. "You're not! You mustn't! It's Why! What are you doing!"
He laughed. "I was only wasting time here. I told you I'd make things come out right."
"Right!"
"I couldn't wait three years to begin. I want to be at work. I want to be nearer the—together—you."
She dropped his hand as if it had stung her. "Don!" It was all she could say, but the tone was eloquent of emotions which he had not expected. He waited, stiff. She went on, with a shudder in her voice: "Oh, you mustn't. I'm not—I'm not sure . . . of myself. I didn't mean to. I thought Oh!" And she began to sob.
He put on his hat. He opened his mouth to get
