The sheriff stepped within the door at the side of Anne Oglesby. "I'd stay about ten minutes or so if I was you," said he, and tried to look unconscious and impersonal.
Don Lane rose now, but stood still apart.
"Why do you say that, Don?" asked Anne, stepping closer to him. "Didn't you know I'd come?"
She reached out her hands to him, and he caught both of them in his.
"I ought to have known you would," said he, "and I know you oughtn't to. It makes it very hard. I said good-by to you—this morning—today."
"Won't you kiss me—again, Don?" asked Anne Oglesby.
He kissed her again, his face white.
"It's hard to know you for so little a while," said he, his young face drawn, his voice trembling—"awfully hard. What time there's left to me—I'll have it all to remember you. But we must never meet after this. It's over."
"Don, if I thought it was all over, do you suppose I'd let you kiss me now?"
"It's like heaven," said he. "It's all I'll have to remember."