"Dora!" he said again, and then had to pause to steady his voice.
Dora wet her red lips with the pointed tip of her tiny tongue; swallowed nervously once or twice, before she spoke. She was now facing him, and still smiling.
He kept his eyes fixed on her face. He did not respond to the smile. His eyes were tragic. He seemed to be seeking something in her face as if he feared her mere words would not help him.
"Why, Zeke," she said at last, when she realized that he could not get beyond her name, "I thought you had gone home an hour ago! Why didn't you take the 5.15 train?"
"I changed my mind! To tell you the truth, I heard that you were in town this afternoon. I have been watching for you—for some time."
"Well, all I can say is—you are foolish. Where's the good for you fretting yourself so? I can take care of myself."
"I can't get used to you being about in the city streets alone."
"How absurd!"
"I have been absurd a great many times of late—in your eyes. Our ideas don't seem to agree any more."
"No, Zeke, they don't!"