looked at him with puzzled eyes—still practical—making the suggestion arithmetical.
"I could typewrite if I had a machine. I have heard—"
"It's not a question of ways and means. Now. Ethel—I have longed—"
He stopped. She looked at his face, at his eyes now eager and eloquent with the things that never shaped themselves into words.
"Dare you come with me?" he whispered.
Suddenly the world opened out in reality to her as sometimes it had opened out to her in wistful dreams. And she quailed before it. She dropped her eyes from his. She became a fellow-conspirator. "But, how—?"
"I will think how. Trust me! Surely we know each other now— Think! We two—"
"But I have never thought—"
"I could get apartments for us both. It would be so easy. And think of it—think—of what life would be!"
"How can I?"
"You will come?"
She looked at him, startled. "You know," she said, "you must know I would like—I would love—"
"You will come."
"But dear—! Dear, if you make me—"
