"Miss Harden—"
"Yes?"
She turned. His heart beat violently. He was afraid to look up lest his face should betray his emotion; it must seem so disproportioned to its cause. And yet he was going to ask her for leave to put his drama, the fine offspring of his soul, into her hands.
"May I send you the drama I spoke of? I would like you to see it."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."
He tried to stammer out some words of thanks; but they died before utterance.
"You know your way now, don't you?" said she.
"Yes, thanks."
Her hand was on the gate; he opened it to let her pass. He also made a movement as though he would have held out his hand, but thought better of it, raising his hat instead.
He stood uncovered until she had passed.