For a few moments they walked on silently John was preparing his sentences, and he could never be hurried at that.
Phyllis knew what was coming; she knew, she knew! Ah! the rapture of it, the loveliness of it all! the poignant beauty of the still unspoken words. Phyllis was willing to wait; he had nothing to tell her she didn't know; but she wanted to hear it said, and remember each word to dream over afterward.
Slowly they walked, in the mean little street, past dark passages, leading into tenements; past knots of lounging men; little mothers with heavy babies struggling in their thin arms; rowdies with vacuous eyes; and girls flaunting cheap finery.
"May I call you Phyllis?" asked John, breaking the silence suddenly.
MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?
"Why, yes; if you wish—and if you think you ought, you know."