HER train leaves to-morrow morning.
This morning, before my breakfast, I went into the booth to call her up, and found that she was at the telephone trying to get me.
She said:
“I was n't very nice about your work, yesterday, Anthony. But I didn't quite understand at the moment. And you rushed off before I could think.”
I protested. I told her how I have been blaming myself for that.
“But you are wrong, dear,” she said. “I'm proud and happy for you. I shall be expecting a great deal of you, Anthony, when I am away off there in Paris.”
“I shall expect more of you,” I replied doggedly. Then I broke out—“I want to see you.”
“I know,” she breathed.
“But we must n't, Heloise. It's only one day more. Fortunately, we shall both be busy.”
She did n't reply at once. I thought the central operator had cut us off. I called, “Hello,” two or three times, and was about to ring for central when her voice floated again to my ear—