When the time came to say adieu he kissed her as he sometimes did, with a smiling and impersonal tenderness—­not conscious of the source of all this happy, demonstrative, half impatient animation which seemed to possess him in every fibre.

“Good-bye, you dear girl,” he said, as the lights of the motor lit up the drive.  “I’ve had a bully time, and I’ll see you soon again.”

“Come when you can, Louis.  There is no man I would rather see.”

“And no girl I would rather go to,” he said, warmly, scarcely thinking what he was saying.

Their clasped hands relaxed, fell apart.  He went in to take leave of Lily and Gordon and their guests, then emerged hastily and sprang into the car.

Overhead the June stars watched him as he sped through the fragrant darkness.  But with him, time lagged; even the train crawled as he timed it to the ticking seconds of his opened watch.

In the city a taxi swallowed him and his haste; and it seemed as though he would never get to his studio and to the telephone; but at last he heard her voice—­a demure, laughing little voice: 

“I didn’t think you’d be brute enough to do it!”

“But you said I might call you—­”

“There are many things that a girl says from which she expects a man to infer, tactfully and mercifully, the contrary.”

“Did I wake you, Valerie?  I’m terribly sorry—­”

“If you are sorry I’ll retire to my pillow—­”

“I’ll ring you up again!”

“Oh, if you employ threats I think I’d better listen to you.  What have you to say to me?”

“What were you doing when I rang you up?”

“I Wish I could say that I was asleep.  But I can’t.  And if I tell the truth I’ve got to flatter you.  So I refuse to answer.”

“You were not waiting up for—­”

“Kelly!  I refuse to answer!  Anyway you didn’t keep your word to me.”

“How do you mean?”

“You promised to appear in a golden cloud!”

“Something went wrong with the Olympian machinery,” he explained, “and I was obliged to take the train....  What are you doing there, anyway?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Why, I’m sitting at the telephone in my night-dress talking to an exceedingly inquisitive gentleman—­”

“I mean were you reading more psalms?”

“No.  If you must know, I was reading ‘Bocaccio’”

He could hear her laughing.

“I was meaning to ask you how you’d spent the day,” he began.  “Haven’t you been out at all?”

“Oh, yes.  I’m not under vows, Kelly.”

“Where?”

“Now I wonder whether I’m expected to account for every minute when I’m not with you?  I’m beginning to believe that it’s a sort of monstrous vanity that incites you to such questions.  And I’m going to inform you that I did not spend the day sitting by the window and thinking about you.”