CHAPTER X
THAT night Reba dreamed about the swarthy-skinned Italian whom she had stolen down the hill so many winter nights to watch, as he stood before the little mirror in the basement of the mills at home and brushed his hair. It disturbed Reba to dream about the Italian. Sitting in one of the city's big churches the next day, she did not try to follow the sermon of the preacher in the pulpit. She tried to convince herself that there was nothing wrong in her new friendship. The Italian and her partner of last night had nothing to do with each other. Her dream was just a circumstance. She acknowledged that she had allowed her imagination to take liberties indeed with the Italian,—harmless little liberties, after all, did she but know—but not with her new acquaintance. No! Besides, she had never been to a "movie"; she had never been taken anywhere by a young man. Of course he wasn't a summer-hotel kind of young man, and Lollie Terrence had discarded him at a glance. But beggars couldn't be choosers, could they? She must go now. She had promised. It would be unkind—it would hurt him if she failed him now. Imagine—just imagine—she was desired by him!
She dressed her carefullest on Monday night, put on a fresh white waist and white kid gloves, and wore her bracelet and gold watch and chain. Of course he ought to have called for her. She knew that; but, after all, there was something exciting about stealing
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