His spirits sank; he had been scanning the society columns daily expecting to see the announcement of her engagement.
“When I’m an old, old woman and living all alone with my chickens somewhere, I suppose you may come to see me again and tell me about your troubles.”
“I won’t,” he replied with a smile he meant to be grim, “because I’ll be dead.”
She regarded him with knit brows, puzzled, slightly disdainful.
“Just when things were a little hard for me, and I have been much troubled because one of the kindest friends either of us ever had or could have—”
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and rebuke and indignation were mingled in the glance she bent upon him.
“I guess we’re not talking about the same thing,” he said huskily. “You know I mean to do the square thing, Nan.”
He was so pathetic that she changed her tone, sorry that she had been so hard on him.
“I think you do—usually, Jerry.”
“And I’ll be out to-morrow night if you’re going to be at home,” he suggested timidly, her reproach still upon him.