“How d'ye do?” said the “Professor.” “Glad to see you here. You turn up every year.”
“You're still given to rhyming,” commented Morrow.
“Yes, I have a rhyme for every time, in pleasure or sorrow. Is this Mrs. Morrow?”
“No.”
“You ought to be sorry she isn't,” remarked the “Professor,” taking his departure.
Morrow and Clara walked on in silence. At last he said somewhat nervously:
“Everybody thinks we're married. Why shouldn't we be?”
She answered softly, with downcast eyes:
“I would be willing if I were sure of one thing.”
“What's that?”