And so till the evening before the “long night.” It was the rule at the Institute to honour the long night with gloves and white ties, by way of compromise with evening dress; and Johnny bought his gloves with discretion and selected his tie with care. Then he went to the Institute, took a turn or two at the bars, climbed up the rope, and gave another member a lesson with the gloves. Thus refreshed, he dressed himself in his walking clothes, making sure that the tie and the gloves were safe in his pocket, and set out for home. There was no dressmaking class that night, so that he need not wait. But outside and plainly waiting for him, was Nora Sansom herself. Johnny thought she had been crying: as in fact she had.
“Oh, Mr. May,” she said. “I’m very sorry, but—I thought you might be here, and—and—I’m afraid I shan’t be able to come to-morrow!”
“Not come! But—but why?”
“I’m sorry—I’m very sorry, Mr. May; but I can’t tell you—really.”
There was a quiver of the lip, and her voice was a little uneven, as though there were danger of more tears. But Johnny was not disappointed merely; he was also angry, and it was hard to conceal the fact. So he said nothing, but turned and walked a few steps by her side.
“I—hope you won’t mind,” she pursued, uneasy at his silence. “I’m very much disappointed—very much indeed.” And it was plain that she was. “But there’ll be a good many there. And you’ll have plenty of partners.” This last she found a hard thing to say.
“I don’t care how many’ll be there,” Johnny replied. “I shan’t go.”
It was said curtly, almost angrily, but Nora Sansom heard it with an odd little tremor of pleasure. Though she merely said, “But why not? There’s no reason why you should be disappointed too.”
“Anyhow, I’m not going,” he said; and after a pause added: “Perhaps you might ha’ gone if I hadn’t asked you!”
“Oh, I shouldn’t!” she answered, with tears in eyes and voice. “You know I shouldn’t! I never go anywhere!”