It was Billy’s flight, which was arranged for the following day, that had focussed his thoughts on the miserable tragedy which had raised still another barrier between him and his possible approach to Stella.
The knock on his door had not interrupted the train of his thought. He was looking through his window into the deep blue of the infinite skies, and linking in fancy the mysteries of their changing lights to those which flashed from the fathomless depths of the eyes of the woman he loved.
He had mechanically answered the knock without moving and still sat wide-eyed and dreaming when the rustle of Stella’s dress and the echo of her soft footfall startled him.
He turned in amazement, stared, suddenly sprang to his feet, his face flushed with excitement. Surely he was asleep—dreaming! Or had the picture in his soul suddenly stepped from the infinite into the flesh and blood of the finite in answer to the yearning call of his heart! A hundred wild thoughts swept his imagination in the brief moment before he could speak.
“I fear I’ve startled you!” she said, drawing back with a timid gesture.
“Why, why—it’s you—Miss Butler! I hadn’t dreamed of seeing you in this dingy office!”
He stammered and hesitated, and continued to gaze at her in confusion.
“May I sit down?” she asked softly.
“I beg a thousand pardons,” he answered, springing across the room for a chair. He dumped a pile of law books from it—brushed the dust from the bottom and placed it before her.
“Believe me,” he went on, “I was so astonished at seeing you, I thought I must have fallen asleep—you see it was too beautiful to be true—I thought it must be a dream.”