The last year and a half at college was a restless time for Bobbie, for his ambition admitted of nothing less than first honors, that she might be proud of him, and through it all he was possessed by a nameless dread. Suppose she should not give him now the old love she bore him in their childhood days! Their letters were always friendly and kind in tone, but after awhile there was a formality in them which both tried to overlook, yet neither succeeded in banishing, and they wrote of everything else but the one thing dearest to their hearts.
The night Bobbie took his degree was a very proud and happy one, for he was given the blissful surprise of knowing Dorothy was there with his father and mother. “At the last moment father allowed me to come,” she had managed to whisper, and then she had to leave him; and before the evening was done, he almost angrily wished she had not come. Scarce a word could he have with her before she was literally taken away from him by a score of men, who were waiting to claim a dance in the ball that followed the closing exercises of the year. It was late, very late, before he got her away from them all. She was standing in a corner of the room, as usual, surrounded by a gay group, when he walked up and placed her hand upon his arm, and led her away from the crowd. “I’m sorry to break you up,” he said, nodding to the others, standing stock still with amazement at his nerve, “but I believe this dance is mine,” and he walked off with Dorothy, quite as if she already belonged entirely to him.
“We are spoiling you to-night, Bobbie,” she said, laughing indulgently; “even I am letting you do as you choose, but I just wonder if you expect to keep it up—if you think that we are always going simply to follow your lead?”
“No,” he answered, “no; after to-night you will lead, and I suppose I will do the following; but to-night—we do not want to dance—I want to get you away from all this crowd.”
He led her through the door, and down the length of the veranda, until they came to a quiet corner, far removed from the ball-room and the gay company within. There was a seat way back in the shadow, and he pushed her gently in it, while he stood leaning against the railing, tearing the blossoms off the vine that made so beautiful a drapery from the floor quite to the top above. The moon was gloriously bright, but only in faint glints could it be seen through the mass of leaves, and as Dorothy leaned back its glimmer shone upon her hair, and for a moment rested lovingly there, and then danced wickedly and distractingly up and down, until it was all Bobbie could do to keep from kissing it, to make it still. He had loved Dorothy all his life, and now that he wanted to tell her so, as man to woman, his courage failed him. Faint strains of the rhythmic waltz reached them, and Dorothy leaned back, with her hands loosely clasped in her lap, and turned her face so that he could not see it well.
Dorothy.