“Say, that's too bad. I was thinking, maybe—”
He shuffled from one foot to the other in a way that to Missy clearly finished his speech's hiatus: He'd been contemplating taking HER home to-night instead of that frivolous Genevieve Hicks! What a shame! To lose the chance to be a really good influence—for surely getting Arthur to church again, even though for the main purpose of seeing her home, was better than for him not to go to church at all. It is excusable to sort of inveigle a sinner into righteous paths. What a shame she couldn't grasp at this chance for service! But she oughtn't to let go of it altogether; oughtn't to just abandon him, as it were, to his fate. She puckered her brows meditatively.
“I'm not going to church, but—”
She paused, thinking hard. Arthur waited.
An inspiration came to her. “Anyway, I have to go to the library to-night. I've got some history references to look up.”
Arthur brightened. The library appealed to him as a rendezvous more than church, anyway. Oh, ye Public Libraries of all the Cherryvales of the land! Winter-time haunt of young love, rivalling band-concerts in the Public Square on summer evenings! What unscholastic reminiscences might we not hear, could book-lined shelves in the shadowy nooks, but speak!
“About what time will you be through at the Library?” asked Arthur, still casual.
“Oh, about eight-thirty,” said Missy, not pausing to reflect that it's an inconsistent sore throat that can venture to the Library but not to church.
“Well, maybe I'll be dropping along that way about that time,” opined Arthur. “Maybe I'll see you there.”
“That would be nice,” said Missy, tingling.