He closed the door with infinite caution, and I thought I had seen the last of him, but a moment later he stuck his head in again.
"David," he said in a stage whisper, "the great trouble is, I can't think of any heroine, any really great heroine, for my novel that isn't exactly like Anthy——"
"Nort, get out!" I laughed, not catching the significance of his remark until after he had gone.
"Well, good-night, anyhow, David," he said, "or good-morning. You're a downright good fellow, David."
And good morning it was: for when Nort went down the steps the dawn was already breaking. As I went upstairs I heard Harriet, in a frightened whisper:
"What in the world is the matter, David?"
But I refused to explain, at least until morning.
