If Cally felt that she had somehow confessed her weakness to Mr. V.V.--about the Works, about life--and been forgiven by him, it seemed that even that did not quite settle it all. It must have been that one small corner of her mind refused to consider that all this was a closed episode.
She turned, with her hand on the knob.
"Shall you go to that meeting of Mr. Pond's next Wednesday--his meeting for workers? He has asked me to go."
The young man said that he would be at the meeting; that he hoped to see her there.
Cally hesitated again. Perhaps she thought of Hugo then; of perhaps the small unreconstructed corner of her mind grew more unrestful.
"I'm not sure that I'll be able to go," she said, slowly.... "Dr. Vivian--is your telephone number still the same--Meeghan's Grocery? I--I may want to speak to you some time."
Yes, it was just the same. Meeghan's Grocery.
V.V. stood looking at her from the middle of the floor, one hand raised to his hair in his characteristic gesture. His old-fashioned sort of face wore a faraway look, not so much hopeful now as wistful; a look which had been moving to Cally Heth, even in the days when she had tried to dislike him. But of this, the young man from the lonely outskirts was not aware; of the nature of his replies he had taken no note. In his ears whispered the subtlest of all his many voices: "She'll never speak to you, once that's printed. Tear it up. You've a right to your youth...."
"Good-bye," said Cally, "and thank you."
"Miss Heth," said Vivian, starting, hurriedly--"I--if I--if it should ever happen that I could help you in any way--it's not likely, of course, I understand that--but if it should ever happen so--promise me that you'll send for me."