'Come then, dear. We'll go down there.'
From the top of the stairs he switched on a light in the shop. Mildred, very palet went down. Henry was about to follow. But he saw Humphrey standing, darting glances about the room, softly snapping his bony fingers. The long, swarthy face was wrinkled into a scowl. His eyes rested on Henry. He gave a little sigh; threw out his hands.
'It's—it's the limit!' he whispered. 'You see—my hat....'
That seemed to be all he could say. His face was twisted with emotion. His mouth even moved a little. But no sound came.
Henry stood waiting. At the moment his surging, uncontrollable emotion took the form of embarrassment. It seemed to him that in this crisis he ought to be polite toward his friend. But they couldn't stand here indefinitely without speaking. There was need, particular need, of politeness toward Mildred Henderson. So, mumbling, he followed her downstairs and out through the shop to the deserted alley.
Then they went down to Chestnut Avenue. Mildred and Humphrey were silent, Walking close together, arm in arm. Henry, in some measure recovered from his little breakdown, or relieved by it, tried to make talk. He spoke of the stillness of the night. He said, 'It's the only time I like the town—after midnight. You don't have to see the people then.'
Then, as they offered no reply, he too fell still.
Corinne, when they found her leaning against a big maple, was in a practical frame of mind.
'There he is,' she whispered. 'Been sitting right there all the time. This is his third cigar. Now listen, Mildred. I've figured it all out. No good in letting ourselves get excited. It's all right. You and I will walk up with Henry. Just take it for granted that you've been down to the lake with us. We needn't even explain.'
Mildred, still nestling close to Humphrey's arm, seemed to be looking at her.