“May I look over at you?”

“You may glance, but you needn’t expect me to return your glance.”

“Oh no.”

“And I want you to take the very first Cambridge car that comes along.  I command you to.”

“I thought you wanted me to do the commanding.”

“So I do—­in essentials.  If you command me not to cry when I get home, I won’t.”

She looked at him with an ecstasy of self-sacrifice in her eyes.

“Ah, I sha’n’t do that.  I can’t tell what would open.  But—­Alice!”

“Well, what?” She drifted closely to him, and looked fondly up into his face.  In walking they had insensibly drawn nearer together, and she had been obliged constantly to put space between them.  Now, standing at the corner of Arlington Street, and looking tentatively across Beacon, she abandoned all precautions.

“What!  I forget.  Oh yes!  I love you!”

“But you said that before, dearest!”

“Yes; but just now it struck me as a very novel idea.  What if your mother shouldn’t like the idea?”

“Nonsense! you know she perfectly idolises you.  She did from the first.  And doesn’t she know how I’ve begin behaving about you ever since I—­lost you?”

“How have you behaved?  Do tell me, Alice?”

“Some time; not now,” she said; and with something that was like a gasp, and threatened to be a sob, she suddenly whipped across the road.  He walked back to Charles Street by the Garden path, keeping abreast of her, and not losing sight of her for a moment, except when the bulk of a string team watering at the trough beside the pavement intervened.  He hurried by, and when he had passed it he found himself exactly abreast of her again.  Her face was turned toward him; they exchanged a smile, lost in space.  At the corner of Charles Street he deliberately crossed over to her.

“O dearest love! why did you come?” she implored.

“Because you signed to me.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t see it.  If we’re both to be so weak as this, what are we going to do?” But I’m glad you came.  Yes:  I was frightened.  They must have overheard us there when we were talking.”

“Well, I didn’t say anything I’m ashamed of.  Besides, I shouldn’t care much for the opinion of those nurses and babies.”

“Of course not.  But people must have seen us.  Don’t stand here talking, Dan!  Do come on!” She hurried him across the street, and walked him swiftly up the incline of Beacon Street.  There, in her new fall suit, with him, glossy-hatted, faultlessly gloved, at a fit distance from her side, she felt more in keeping with the social frame of things than in the Garden path, which was really only a shade better than the Beacon Street Mall of the Common.  “Do you suppose anybody saw us that knew us?”

“I hope so!  Don’t you want people to know it?”

“Yes, of course.  They will have to know it—­in the right way.  Can you believe that it’s only half a year since we met?  It won’t be a year till Class Day.”