“I must go now and see about dinner,” she said evenly.
“Well——” But he got no further, nor did she move toward the door. Instead:
“You really must leave to-morrow?” she asked politely.
“Yes; I must, really. You see—the unexpected isn’t going to happen, after all.” He smiled across at her.
“But—perhaps the unexpected is too—too impossible!”
“Yes; I fear it is,” he answered dejectedly.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that!” she cried, and then stopped in a sudden tumult of embarrassment.
“Thank you; but I fear it’s true, just the same. The unexpected is one of those wonderful things that are too good to happen—except in books.” He swung himself off the table, still smiling. “But I’m keeping you?”
“No.” She shook her head almost impatiently and stood there interlacing her slim fingers in the way he knew so well. Suddenly she raised her eyes to his and asked abruptly:
“Do you still remember the promise you—the promise I made you?” she asked. The eyes looked large and fearful and her face was pale.