“Forgot!” said Larry. “No, Jane, I did not forget, but this telegram from Chicago came last night, and I was busy with my packing all morning and then in the afternoon I thought I would hurry through a few calls—they always take longer than one thinks—and before I knew it I was late for dinner. I had not forgotten; I was thinking of you all day, Jane.”
“Were you, Larry?” said Jane, a gentle tenderness in her smile. “I am glad.”
Then a silence fell between them for some moments. They were both thinking of the change that was coming to their lives. Larry was wondering how he would ever do without this true-hearted friend whose place in his life he was only discovering now to be so large. He glanced at her. Her eyes were glowing with a soft radiance that seemed to overflow from some inner spring.
“Jane,” he cried with a sudden impulse, “you are lovely, you are perfectly lovely.”
A shy, startled, eager look leaped into her eyes. Then her face grew pale. She waited, expectant, tremulous. But at that instant a noisy group passed into the library.
“Larry,” whispered Jane, turning swiftly to him and laying her hand upon his arm, “you will take me home to-night.”
“All right, Jane, of course,” said Larry.
As they passed out from the library Helen Brookes met them. “Larry, come here,” she said in a voice of suppressed excitement. “Larry, don't you want to do something for me? Scuddy wants to take me home tonight, and I don't want him to.”
“But why not, Helen? You ought to be good to Scuddy, poor chap. He's a splendid fellow, and I won't have him abused.”
“Not to-night, Larry; I can't have him to-night. You will take me home, won't you? I am going very soon.”