“Did you see that they are tearing up the embankment down by the obelisk?” was the extremely pertinent reply. As all three of us had spent a quarter of an hour a day or two before, watching those same operations, it seemed probable that I had seen them.
“But, Dorothy,” I pleaded. “Just a minute, I want to—”
Dorothy sprung from her chair and started for the door. “I’m going to find Tom,” she said.
“Stop,” I called in a low voice. “‘The man’ is on the other side of the partition walking up and down. Listen!”
Dorothy stood still for a moment in the very poise of flight, and we both listened intently. The roar of the city was the only sound. The measured footsteps had ceased. When they had stopped I had no idea. I had proved an unfaithful watcher.
“Then, for heaven’s sake, where’s Tom?” I cried, as I rushed to the window.
Dorothy, surprised from her attitude, followed me. I gazed from the window up and down the house fronts and street. Tom was nowhere in sight. Dorothy leaned forward beside me to look out and in the intoxication of her immediate presence every idea beside my wish to tell her of my love was swept away. I seized her hand.
“Dorothy,” I exclaimed, “you must and shall hear what I am going to say.”
Her hand, at first fluttering and striving to escape, gave up its struggle, and she stood silent, listening, with averted head.