“I’ll wait, Elice. It’s early yet. See how your father is and come down when you can.” Armstrong looked at her meaningly, with all but an appeal. “This is my night, you know. You really can’t refuse to let me see you to-night.”
The girl busied herself with the lights and the gas in the grate.
“I know, Steve; but really I’d rather not see 307 any one longer to-night.” She took off her coat almost hurriedly. “It’s a busy time for me now before the holidays; and with father as he is—That’s why I came away so early, you know. Not to-night, please, Steve.”
Armstrong silently paced the length of the little library, pitifully bare in comparison with the home they had just left. He halted.
“Do you realize that you’ve invariably prevented, by one excuse or another, my talking with you alone in months now?” he asked abruptly. “Don’t you mean ever to give me a chance again? You know what it is I wish to speak about, Elice.”
The girl was standing—quite still now.
“Yes, I know what it is you wish,” she corroborated.
Armstrong fingered the gloves in his hand nervously. “Aren’t you going to listen then? I won’t attempt to make any apologies for the past. I can’t. But I’d hoped you’d forgotten, or at least forgiven, by this time. I’ve tried to make good, honestly, Elice; and to-night particularly—don’t stand me in the corner any longer, please. I’ve been punished enough.”
“Punished!” The girl wheeled. “I wonder—” She checked herself suddenly. 308 “Very well,” she digressed swiftly,—“wait. I’ll be back soon,” and she was gone.