"It was here that you told me good-bye when you went off to school," he said recklessly.
"Was it?" she asked. "I was very miserable that day and you gave me no comfort. You didn't even come down to the road next morning to see me go by."
"Yes, I know," he admitted.
"I thought you were asleep, and I was angry."
"No, I was not asleep. I was at work."
"But you might have come."
"Yes, I might have come," he repeated absently, and quickly corrected himself. "No, I mean I couldn't come, of course. If you were to go away to-morrow, I couldn't come. Something would rise and prevent. I have a presentiment that I shall never say good-bye to you."
She dissented. "I've a feeling that I shall say 'God speed' to you when you go off to become a great man."
"A great man? Do you mean a rich man?" he asked quickly.
"Oh, dear, yes," she mocked; "a great, gouty gentleman, who owns a couple of railroads and wears an electric light in his shirt-front."