“Must we? And won’t you tell me what you said?”
“Certainly not,” she answered, severely.
“Never?” pleaded Phillip.
Betty relented.
“Perhaps some day.”
“Next time I see you?”
“Hardly. Good-by.” She held out her hand and Phillip seized it as though it were the only thing between him and death by drowning.
“Well, but—I may come again?”
“If you like.”
“When?”