“But when am I to see you?” he broke out impatiently.
“Oh, there will be plenty of time. But not to-night—please. You aren't going away before morning.”
“I am here only for a day or so. I—I am down East on—on business.” He had quailed again. “I just stopped off here.”
“Oh, you just happened to come?”
“No, I meant to come—I had to, I couldn't stay away. It's a long time since I've seen you, Margaret.
“I know. You called in Evanston, didn't you? Mrs. Bigelow wrote me that you had taken George. How is he doing?”
“Well. But when can I talk with you—alone somewhere? I can't say anything when you seem so hurried.”
“Why—to-morrow, perhaps.”
“To-morrow morning?”
“No, not the morning. I'm going to climb the Terrace.”