“Yes, or coming herself. Come along, let’s start.”
The walk home was saddened by the thought that it was the last. Able to face the situation, both knew there was no hope that they should be allowed to continue their acquaintance, and knew that now it was discovered, they would very soon be as widely separated as the efforts of their elders could arrange.
Their pace slowed down as they neared The Campanile.
“Dear old place,” said Dorcas, as the house came into their ken.
“Dear old nothing,” returned Bates. “I think it’s an eyesore, don’t you? That bunch of Mexican onyx ought to be taken away to make kings’ sarcophagi!”
“What a thought! Yes, it’s hideous,—but I didn’t mean its appearance. Its dear to me because we’ve lived here together, and I’ve a premonition that before long widely separated roofs will cover our heads.”
“I’ll conquer somehow!” Bates declared. “I haven’t made many protestations, but I tell you, Dork, I’m coming out on top of this heap!”
“What are you going to do? Something desperate?”
“Maybe so,—maybe only something queer. But get you, I shall and I will! You’re intended for my mate by an Omniscient Fate, and I’m going to find some way to help said Fate along. She seems to be sidetracked for the moment.”
“I wish I had more faith in your Fate helping. Oh, don’t look like that! I’ve faith enough in you,—but helping Fate is a tricky game.”