After a time she hitched up the other foot on the sofa, and sat, her arms about her knees, staring at him that way, her eyes gleaming in the dim light, impulsive still as a child herself—as indeed she was always to remain.
“Listen!” said she. “I’ve got an idea. Come now—you seem rather like a priest to me—it didn’t seem wrong for me to tell you things. Will you make a trade, honor bright?”
“If I gave you my word,” said David Joslin soberly, “I’d keep it.”
“If you’ll promise to go on and do what you said you’d do—your education—your college—I’ll agree to quit this business in about two months, and when I do I’ll go into the Red Cross.”
He did not answer her at all. Unconsciously, after how long a time neither of them could have told, they both had arisen. He stood before her, motionless, she herself slightly swaying. Impulsively, she extended her hands towards him in the twilight of the room.
“I know you!” said she. “I know what you want You want to kiss me, don’t you?” She looked at him gravely.
He could not answer. He made no motion. But Polly Pendleton knew now that if any salutation came from this man it would be from a different man than the one who had entered this room a half-hour previous. In short, she knew, whether or not he knew it, that David Joslin was saved.
“Among so many——” began Polly Pendleton, trying to laugh and half sobbing. “Oh, well——”
He never knew how or when he found the street.
Across the hall appeared the red and irate face of a gentleman who, apparently, had long been waiting.