thought I must be tired or run down, and I waited. Even when I came to the conclusion that my feelings had changed a little, I had no thought of breaking off in any way. It seemed too impossible. For a while, after that, when I came home, the first two or three hours with her were all right. They reassured me. And then, each time, by Sunday night, when I took my train back to New York, I was as depressed and discouraged about it all as ever. It was relief, freedom, to get on the train—to get away from the girl I meant to marry some day, Nan! It hasn't been the extra work at the office that has kept me in New York so much this spring; it has simply been that I couldn't play my part if I came home. It hasn't been an easy year, I can tell you that, Nan." Burr got up and walked over to the window.
"I believe, Burr," I said to his back, "that a great many long engagements that work out disastrously would have made very happy marriages."
"I can believe that, too, Nan, readily," said Burr, not turning around. "If I had married Elsie in the beginning I'd have accepted my change of feelings as part of the fortunes of marriage. Besides, I wouldn't have seen any one else."
I glanced up quickly. "Is there somebody else, Burr?" I asked lightly, while my heart pounded.
