"I thought I knew your walk," said Mrs. Stout. "Won't you come in?"
"No, thanks."
"How's your mother?"
"Nicely, but I must be going, good—"
"Don't you be in such a hurry, Willie Flint," Mrs. Stout interrupted, and then added, "This is Miss Wallace here, and I guess you'd better beau her home; it's a pretty dark night for young women to be runnin' 'round alone."
Barbara almost hated Mrs. Stout for saying that. She had remained silent because, for one reason, there had been no chance for her to speak, and another reason was that she hoped—she did and she did not—that Will would not follow Mrs. Stout's suggestion. Barbara was not unlike other young women in many ways.
"Good evening, Mr. Flint," she said, determined to make the best of it whatever the outcome might be.
"Is that you, Bar—Miss Wallace?" said Will as he came into the yard and up the walk to the steps. Mrs. Stout noticed that he had started to say Barbara.
"I'll 'tend to those boys, Miss Wallace. Good night," she said abruptly, and shut the door.
"Good night," replied Barbara and Will, as they turned and went down the walk together.