This sentence died out. They went back.
“Good night,” said she.
She felt that he must think her very young and simple. It seemed odd that he should waste so much time on her. No other man she had ever met was like him. Hesitantly, desiring at least a touch of friendliness, on an impulse, she extended her hand.
He took it; held it a moment firmly; then said:
“Will you give me that drawing?”
“Yes,” said she.
“Now?”
“Yes.” And she tiptoed twice again past the Hasmers' door.
“Please sign it,” said he, and produced a pencil. “But it seems so silly. I mean, it's nothing, this sketch.”
“Please!”