Twilight was not his hour for the library—she saw even through her perturbation that he was pacing it in fond memory. His face lighted up with amazement, as though the dead had come up through a tombstone.
"Good-by!" she said, shifting her handbag to her left hand and holding out her right. Her self-possession pleased her.
"What!" he cried. And again he had the gasp of a fish out of water.
"Yes, I came to say good-by."
"You are leaving us?"
"Yes."
"Oh, and it is I that have driven you away!"
"No, no, don't reproach yourself, please don't. Good-by."
He gasped in silence. She gave a little laugh. "Now that I offer you my hand, it is you who won't take it."
He seized it. "Oh, Eil—Miss O'Keeffe—let me keep it."