“Don’t ask it, or I must say yes.”

“Part of the way, then?”

“No; not a step!  You must take the first car for Cambridge.  What time is it now?”

“You can see by the clock on the Providence Depot.”

“But I wish you to go by your watch, now.  Look!”

“Alice!” he cried, in pure rapture.

“Look!”

“It’s a quarter of one.”

“And we’ve been three hours together already!  Now you must simply fly.  If you came home with me I should be sure to let you come in, and if I don’t see mamma alone first, I shall die.  Can’t you understand?”

“No; but I can do the next best thing:  I can misunderstand.  You want to be rid of me.”

“Shall you be rid of me when we’ve parted?” she asked, with an inner thrill of earnestness in her gay tone.

“Alice!”

“You know I didn’t mean it, Dan.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Dan.”

“Dan, love!  Dan, dearest!”

“Will that car of yours never come?  I’ve promised myself not to leave you till it does, and if I stay here any longer I shall go wild.  I can’t believe it’s happened.  Say it again!”

“Say what?”

“That—­”

“That I love you?  That we’re engaged?”

“I don’t believe it.  I can’t.”  She looked impatiently up the street.  “Oh, there comes your car!  Run!  Stop it!”

“I don’t run to stop cars.”  He made a sign, which the conductor obeyed, and the car halted at the further crossing.

She seemed to have forgotten it, and made no movement to dismiss him.  “Oh, doesn’t it seem too good to be standing here talking in this way, and people think it’s about the weather, or society?” She set her head a little on one side, and twirled the open parasol on her shoulder.

“Yes, it does.  Tell me it’s true, love!”

“It’s true.  How splendid you are!” She said it with an effect for the world outside of saying it was a lovely day.

He retorted, with the same apparent nonchalance, “How beautiful you are!  How good!  How divine!”

The conductor, seeing himself apparently forgotten, gave his bell a vicious snap, and his car jolted away.

She started nervously.  “There! you’ve lost your car, Dan.”

“Have I?” asked Mavering, without troubling himself to look after it.

She laughed now, with a faint suggestion of unwillingness in her laugh.  “What are you going to do?”

“Walk home with you.”

“No, indeed; you know I can’t let you.”

“And are you going to leave me here alone on the street corner, to be run over by the first bicycle that comes along?”

“You can sit down in the Garden, and wait for the next car.”

“No; I would rather go back to the Art Museum, and make a fresh start.”

“To the Art Museum?” she murmured, tenderly.

“Yes.  Wouldn’t you like to see it again?”