“It’s a beautiful boat, I think,” said the girl. She had gone to the window and was looking down. The wind came in and blew past her curls a little and ruffled around through the room.
“I’d like to take you out in her some day,” said George.
“Would you!” She turned to him, with a quick little flutter of curls and the color dabbing her cheeks. “I’d love to go!”
“All right.” He got up. He went toward the door slowly—as if fingers held him.
The girl did not stir....
He turned at the door and looked at her—“Good-bye,” he said—
“Good-bye.” She moved a step, “Oh—I—”
He paused a minute—waiting.
“I thank you for bringing the paper,” said Celia.
“That’s all right.” He moved away down the path.