Athalie

One thing confused and disturbed her; his tongue was running loose,

planning all sorts of future pleasures for them both together,

confidently, with an enthusiasm which, somehow, seemed to leave her

unresponsive.

"Please don't," she said.

"What, Athalie?"

"Make so many promises--plans. I--am afraid of promises."

He turned very red: "What on earth have I done to you!"

"Nothing--yet."

"Yes I have! I once made you unhappy; I made you distrust me--"

"No:--that is all over now. Only--if it happened again--I should

really--miss you--very much--C. Bailey, Junior.... So don't promise me

too much--now.... Promise a little--each time you come--if you care

to."

In the silence that grew between them the alarm went off with a

startling clangour that brought them both to their feet.

It was midnight.

"I set it to wake myself before my sisters came in," she explained

with a smile. "I usually have something prepared for them to eat when

they've been out."

"I suppose they do the same for you," he said, looking at her rather

steadily.

"I don't go out in the evening."

"You do sometimes."

"Very seldom.... Do you know, C. Bailey, Junior, I have never been out

in the evening with a man?"

"What?"

"Never."

"Why?"

"I suppose," she admitted with habitual honesty, "it's because I don't

know any men with whom I'd care to be seen in the evening. I don't

like ordinary people."

"How about me?" he asked, laughing.

She merely smiled.