"You," she said, pouting, "you simply refuse to come in. Why don't you leave this dreadful place and come to the city? It must be like living in a graveyard to exist here."
"I have told you often that I can't yet, Rosalie," he said humbly. "But you promised not to forget me in the meantime, don't you remember, dear?"
She turned away that he might not see her eyes, for her better self—the real woman that cared for him, and knew his true worth—was looking from them just then. And there was another Rosalie that cared, oh, so much, for wealth and social position.
"You know—I—I've told you," she said tremulously, "what I want you to do."
"I know, and I will settle in Toronto just as soon as I possibly can. You have my promise. But I cannot come just now."
"When, then?"
"Perhaps at the beginning of the new year. If I——"
A frightened look came into her eyes, and she interrupted him.
"If you don't come at the beginning of the year it will be too late," she said breathlessly.
"Rosalie! What do you mean?"