“He didn’t. I offered him the chance.”
“It won’t take us a moment to set the table. It is not the least trouble.”
“Really, Mrs. Bartlett, you are very kind. I am not in the slightest degree hungry now. I am merely taking some thought of the morrow. No; I must be going, and thank you very much.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Bartlett, seeing him to the door, “if there’s anything you want, come to me, and I will let you have it if it’s in the house.”
“You are too good to me,” said the young man with genuine feeling, “and I don’t deserve it; but I may remind you of your promise—to-morrow.”
“See that you do,” she answered. “Good-night.”
Yates waited at the gate, placing the loaf on the post, where he forgot it, much to the astonishment of the donor in the morning. He did not have to wait long, for Kitty came around the house somewhat shrinkingly, as one who was doing the most wicked thing that had been done since the world began. Yates hastened to meet her, clasping one of her unresisting hands in his.
“I must be off to-morrow,” he began.
“I am very sorry,” answered Kitty in a whisper.
“Ah, Kitty, you are not half so sorry as I am. But I intend to come back, if you will let me. Kitty, you remember that talk we had in the kitchen, when we—when there was an interruption, and when I had to go away with our friend Stoliker?”