"We ought to economize."
"Well, let us have one last splurge."
It was, after all, a rather dismal "splurge," for they were both playing their parts with an effort, and their lack of appetite betrayed them. "You're not eating anything," he accused her. She replied: "I'm doing as well as you." A moment later, he came out of a staring abstraction to find her studying him. She blushed and looked down at her plate. He had a guilty feeling that she had read his thoughts. They received their dessert in silence.
"Have you heard from your mother?" he asked suddenly.
She admitted, with reluctance, that she had.
"What does she say?"
"Now, I'm not going to tell you," she answered. "I've told you I'm not going home—and that's all. You've had worry enough about me. I'll tell you about it when the proper time comes." She glanced at her watch. "It's time you were meeting Mr. Pittsey, now."
"Where are you May I take you to the car?"
"Yes." They rose together. "And you're not to worry about me, will you?"
He shook his head, without meeting the tender anxiety of her scrutiny. And he parted from her at the steps of an elevated station still guiltily averting his eyes.
To pay for their dinner, he had "broken" his last ten-dollar bill. He wondered whether he might borrow a little money from Bert Pittsey. He supposed that Pittsey was coming to see him about some new
