"It's his birthday to-morrow," young Atkins said.
"I know. I've been thinking of that all day."
He caught her round the waist.
"You darling! To-morrow then! I'll make myself scarce. We were going to have an extra dinner by way of celebration—he wasn't keen, but it was my idea! I'll pretend to let him down, and you come instead."
She fell into his mood, and they made their plans like eager children. It was only when young Atkins was just starting away that she caught his arm for a moment, and her face was white in the gray light.
"The summer's quite gone, Tommy," she said sadly. "I often wonder if it doesn't mean that my summer has gone too, and that it's too late now."
He pooh-poohed her words scornfully.
"Nonsense! As if summer doesn't ever come again! Why, next year will be a topper, you'll see! The best in your life."
They were both silent for a moment, listening to the monotonous lap, lap of the river as it flowed swiftly along between its rush- grown banks.
"I hate that sound," young Atkins broke out vehemently. "I wonder you can bear to have been so near to it after . . . there! I didn't mean that! I'm such a blundering ox."