The lamplight sent little mocking shadows across her face and brought out the glint of gold in her hair. He held on to the door-knob to keep from going back to her.
“Promise me you’ll not run into any danger,” she said, softly.
“Of course I won’t—not unless I have to.”
“Not even if you have to!”
“What—run away?” he demanded, staring at her in astonishment. “You wouldn’t have me do that, Mamie?”
“No,” she said, “I wouldn’t have you do that! Good-night, Allan.”
“Good-night,” he repeated, and opened the door and went resolutely up the stair to his room.
And Mamie, standing listening until the sound of his steps died away, at last flung herself down upon the lounge and buried her face in her arms. Her eyes were wet with tears—but they were tears of joy.