And, while the sun is shining,
Make hay, little girl, make hay.
They kept repeating themselves inside her head. Unconsciously in the darkness as they were driving home, she started humming them.
“What did you say?” he questioned.
“I didn't say anything. It was just a snatch from a tune we heard.”
“Was it? Won't you hum it again?”
So in the intermittent gloom of the passing lights she tried; but for some reason, inexplicable to herself, it made her feel choky. She couldn't reach the end. Gathering her wrap closer about her, she drew the fur collar higher to hide the stupid tears which had forced their way into her eyes.
“I believe you're crying!” he exclaimed with concern. “Do tell me what's the matter.”
“I'm too happy,” she whispered brokenly. The taxi drew up against the pavement with a jerk. There was no knowing what he might say next to comfort her. She both yearned to learn and dreaded. Flight was the safer choice. Before he could assist her, she had jumped out. “Come tomorrow and I'll thank you properly. I can't now. And... I'm sorry for having been a baby.” Catching at her skirts, she fled up the steps and let herself into the darkened house.
Not until his wheels had moved reluctantly away, did she climb the narrow stairs to the room from which she had departed so gaily. Her solitariness had returned. She had had her own man for a handful of hours. They were ended.