"Yes."
Once more, to Margery, her voice seemed cold and hard.
"The good old days at Beverly—what?" said Andrew.
"Yes."
Andrew dawdled with the andante.
"Ah, Moon of my Delight, that knows no wane—"
"I must be going," he said, and rose to take her hand.
"I wonder," he added, retaining it, "if you know that I would give the world to ask you just one question—and be certain of the answer?"
"Not now," said Margery steadily, "not now, please. I have many things to think of. Listen. I'm going down to Poissy—to the Carnbys', to-morrow. I know they mean to ask you over Sunday; and then, my friend, you can ask me—whatever you will. No, please. Good-by."