She started to say "No!" very decidedly; but checked herself. Then,

deliberately honest: "If," she began, "I were going to the opera, and you came in

here--after four years of not seeing you--and if I had to choose--I

don't believe I'd go to the opera. But it would be a dreadful wrench,

C. Bailey, Junior!"

"It's no wrench to me."

"Because you often go."

"Because, even if I seldom went there could be no question of choice

between the opera and Athalie Greensleeve."

"C. Bailey, Junior, you are not honest."

"Yes, I am. Why do you say so?"

"I judge by past performances," she said, her humorous eyes on him.

"Are you going to throw past performances in my face every time I come

to see you?"

"Are you coming again?"

"That isn't generous of you, Athalie--"

"I really mean it," said the girl. "Are you?"

"Coming here? Of course I am if you'll let me!"

The last time he had said, "If you want me." Now it was modified to

"If you'll let me,"--a development and a new footing to which

neither were yet accustomed, perhaps not even conscious of.

"C. Bailey, Junior, do you want to come?"

"I do indeed. It is so bully of you to be nice to me

after--everything. And it's so jolly to talk over--things--with you."

She leaned forward in her chair, her pretty hands joined between her

knees.

"Please," she said, "don't say you'll come if you are not coming."

"But I am--"

"I know you said so twice before.... I don't mean to be horrid or to

reproach you, but--I am going to tell you--I was disappointed--even

a--a little--unhappy. And it--lasted--some time.... So, if you are not

coming, tell me so now.... It is hard to wait--too long."

"Athalie," he said, completely surprised by the girl's frank avowal

and by the unsuspected emotion in himself which was responding, "I

am--I had no idea--I don't deserve your kindness to me--your

loyalty--I'm a--I'm a--a pup! That's what I am--an undeserving,

ungrateful, irresponsible, and asinine pup! That's what all boys in

college are--but it's no excuse for not keeping my word--for making

you unhappy--"

"C. Bailey, Junior, you were just a boy. And I was a child.... I am

still, in spite of my nineteen years--nearly twenty at that--not much

different, not enough changed to know that I'm a woman. I feel exactly

as I did toward you--not grown up,--or that you have grown up.... Only

I know, somehow, I'd have a harder time of it now, if you tell me

you'll come, and then--"




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