"It meant you to me—your dream, even when I didn't let myself believe it,—your will, you."
"It was silly," she said. "Just my dream of Ket. What was there to it?"
"Can you ever get such a dream of me?"
"Oh, my God!" she cried, seizing him with both her hands. "Think of comparing you and Ket! . . . Kiss me! Kiss me!"
"I mean to marry you, if you will. I mean to marry you!"
"Never mind. . . . I mean, of course I want you to. . . . But never mind, kiss me. . . . How soft your hair is? . . . Does it hurt your shoulder . . ."
Calvin brought Joan home to her flat so late in the evening that mamma already was in bed and unwakably asleep, but not late enough for Calvin to see Dads; for Dads had resumed his usual habits.
Finding lights out when he returned, he entered quietly; but Joan heard him and sat up, excitedly. "I'm awake, Dads."
"Just awake?" asked Dads, after gazing at her. He was sober to-night.
"Dads, come here. I'm going to marry Calvin Clarke."
"Hm!" said Dads. "Hm. Hm, little Joan. . . . Well, I thought so. . . . We'll be going to Cleveland, your mamma and I. We'll be out of the State."
"No, Dads. No."
"Not when you're married. I mean afterwards, Joan. I'll be going along the same, Joan—and I'm not one to live on a State's attorney. Told your mamma?"
She had not; but Calvin was then engaged in telling his. He was writing with great patience with his left hand, and he spent half the remaining hours of the night at his letter; for it was no easy and simple message he had to send his mother. He knew, indeed, that however
