"Let me drop you," I said, "and borrow your buggy afterward to take me home. You ought not to drive alone at night."
"Maybe it would be better if I did," she said.
We said good-night at the door of her house, but not easily. For once it seemed hard to say anything final.
"Was I very brazen," she said, "to ask you to go with me, when I didn't want to be alone?"
"You were not," I said, "it was sweet of you. I loved it."
Cornelius Twombly lunged from the black shadow of a cedar tree and went to the horse's head.
"Good-night, Lucy. Good luck!"
Just then we heard John calling.
"That you, Lucy? You're late. I was getting anxious."
We could see him coming down the path, a vague shadow among the shadows, his cigarette burning brightly.