“I would take them from you,” I said, and after a second of hesitation he took them. He didn’t thank me at all; but he clamped the bag of cream puffs under his arm—he must have had to scrape them off the paper when he came to eat them—and then he put both his hands around my un-umbrellaed hand, and for a minute held it very tightly.
“I—can’t say anything,” he said in a funny, jerky way.
“Oh, that’s all right,” I answered. And he laughed a little, and he did that in a jerky way too. Then he said, “You turn on your light, and switch it on and off three or four times, will you, when you get in? I’ll want to know that you’re all right.”
“I will,” I promised.
“And look here, you won’t be homesick, will you?”
“No,” I promised. Then I said “Good-night,” and he said “Good-night,” and I went off down the street. At the corner I looked back to see him still on the step and watching me, and that made me nervous, because people catch cold easily when they aren’t well, and he should have known it. And furthermore, there wasn’t the least necessity of his watching me, because I had often been out later than that by myself and I was quite safe.
In the Pension I hurried to my room, and took off my hat and coat and switched my light off and on several times as I had promised, and from across the court I had a fast-flashed answer.
Then I went out to dinner where Mr. Hemmingway was telling of his first trip in a yawl—whatever that is—which had been in the spring of 1871, or 1872, he had a fearful time remembering which; and where Miss Bannister was telling of the crumpets that they had had for tea when the gentry came during the years of her girlhood; and where Miss Meek was making sniff-prefaced remarks about people who made their money overnight in America—this was for Leslie’s benefit—and where Beata was to be seen, again with eyelids that were puffed from tears.
After dinner as I played Canfield in the dining room with Miss Meek looking on and saying, “That’s the way to it! Now smack the queen on the king jolly quick!” I thought of all the unfinished stories I had around me.
First there was Miss Sheila, whose love story had been unhappy.