“Oh, yes.”
“Couldn’t you—couldn’t we go down on the river or to a show somewhere? I know what you’re thinking: that if this meant so much to me, how could I let it go for nearly a year. But you’ll understand. You’ll see what I mean and what I’m up against. The thing was too big for me to rush in. I had to wait. But now that you’ve come, I can’t let you go.”
“I must go back.”
“To-night then. Couldn’t I meet you at The Public Square at five and have supper?”
“Oh no. I must go home—first.”
“May I call for you at Harrow Street, say at seven, or before that? Say, couldn’t we go to that old restaurant where we went that night?”
This idea had come to Pidge before he spoke; exactly, perhaps, as it caught his fancy.
“Yes, I could——” Pidge cleared her voice, and spoke again above the roar of the street. “Yes, I could.”
Then because she had lifted her voice, she seemed to hear her own tones unforgetably, as if her soul echoed back the words.
“But I must hurry back now,” she added.