"Good-bye," he said, his eyes looking into hers. "You do understand, don't you, Amory?"
"Yes, Edgar."
Even then he seemed loth to part from her. He accompanied her to the top of the stairs.—"You'll let me know when you're coming again, won't you?" he asked.
"Yes. Good-bye."
And she tore herself away.
At the first turning of the stairs Amory stood aside to allow a rather untidy young woman to pass. This young woman had a long bare neck that reminded Amory of an artist's model, and her hands were thrust into the fore-pockets of a brown knitted coat. She was whistling, but she stopped when she saw Amory.
"Do you know whether Mr. Dickinson, the poster artist, is up here?" she asked.
"The next floor, I think," Amory replied.
"Thanks," said the girl, and passed up.