"Go down with Dorothy Hess. You said you would, before I said I'd call for you. Will you now?"
She replied: "Yes. I'll do that."
"I'll," he said and stopped for breath. They were standing on the street corner and, so far as any one passing might guess, they were arranging only some ordinary appointment before they parted—"I'll call for you as soon as I can."
He thrust his hand forward and she gave him hers; and their eyes met. "Good-by now, David," she said.
"Not now!" he denied.
"Yes; you go on to business. I want you to; I want to go back alone!"
She drew her hand away and turned from him; he took a step after her, then he stopped and watched her as she was caught in the crowd on the walk. He was suffused as he realized the compact he had made with her. He, who had broken solemn betrothal with Alice, had made an agreement to "call for" Fidelia at Streator; and he knew he would not fail in this.
The very vagueness of their compact satisfied him better than would any formal pledge; for he had just broken the most definite of promises and Fidelia knew it. Moreover, David had a feeling against making any final assertion until after the twenty-second of June. He knew this was wholly to satisfy an emotional protest within himself; but the protest was there and he could not ignore it. Now, Fidelia would wait for him until after the twenty-second, when he would go to Streator and fetch her; he would carry her away with him in the warmth of June, on the evening of some day like this; he would take her to a forest shore
