her head. "Yes, there is," he insisted. "I've been waiting—I've been planning here, working and everything—because I knew you'd come to New York. And now, ever since you've been here, I've been—I've been so Haven't you been happy? Do you want to go?"
"No," she said gently. "I don't, Don. But it—perhaps it would be wiser for me to go home for awhile and then come back again." She added hastily, seeing the tragic change in his face: "I'll come back. Then when you're—when you're more sure of everything This is the first time you've had an opportunity to do your work, without being worried and upset. I don't know that I shall ever find anything. Not for years. I need to study. I could do that at home—study—while I'm teaching. We could write to each other. We could . . . wait."
"Wait!" His voice was almost a groan. "Haven't I waited? Haven't I been waiting all my life?" She took his arm to check him. He went on passionately: "I can't wait. I can't live here alone. I can't let you go again. I can't."
"Ssh!" She looked askance at the windows they were passing. "If we—if I didn't go, and then anything happened, I'd be"
"What do I care what happens as long as you don't go! You couldn't be any worse off than you'd be at home. Besides, nothing can happen. I'll see to that. Stay with me. Don't leave me. I"
"Oh, Don!" She clung to his arm. "We must be practical."
"Practical! What do I care whether we're prac-
