K. was being very dense. For so long had he considered Sidney as

unattainable that now his masculine mind, a little weary with much

wretchedness, refused to move from its old attitude.

"It was glamour, that was all, K.," said Sidney bravely.

"But, perhaps," said K., "it's just because of that miserable incident with

Carlotta. That wasn't the right thing, of course, but Max has told me the

story. It was really quite innocent. She fainted in the yard, and--"

Sidney was exasperated.

"Do you want me to marry him, K.?"

K. looked straight ahead.

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"I want you to be happy, dear."

They were on the terrace of the White Springs Hotel again. K. had ordered

dinner, making a great to-do about getting the dishes they both liked. But

now that it was there, they were not eating. K. had placed his chair so

that his profile was turned toward her. He had worn the duster religiously

until nightfall, and then had discarded it. It hung limp and dejected on

the back of his chair. Past K.'s profile Sidney could see the magnolia

tree shaped like a heart.

"It seems to me," said Sidney suddenly, "that you are kind to every one but

me, K."

He fairly stammered his astonishment:-"Why, what on earth have I done?"

"You are trying to make me marry Max, aren't you?"

She was very properly ashamed of that, and, when he failed of reply out of

sheer inability to think of one that would not say too much, she went

hastily to something else: "It is hard for me to realize that you--that you lived a life of your own,

a busy life, doing useful things, before you came to us. I wish you would

tell me something about yourself. If we're to be friends when you go

away,"--she had to stop there, for the lump in her throat--"I'll want to

know how to think of you,--who your friends are,--all that."

He made an effort. He was thinking, of course, that he would be

visualizing her, in the hospital, in the little house on its side street,

as she looked just then, her eyes like stars, her lips just parted, her

hands folded before her on the table.

"I shall be working," he said at last. "So will you."

"Does that mean you won't have time to think of me?"

"I'm afraid I'm stupider than usual to-night. You can think of me as never

forgetting you or the Street, working or playing."




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