"I believe you had forgotten!"
"I? Certainly not. I started downstairs a while ago, but you had a
visitor."
"Only Joe Drummond."
He gazed down at her quizzically.
"And--is Joe more reasonable?"
"He will be. He knows now that I--that I shall not marry him."
"Poor chap! He'll buck up, of course. But it's a little hard just now."
"I believe you think I should have married him."
"I am only putting myself in his place and realizing--When do you leave?"
"Just after breakfast."
"I am going very early. Perhaps--"
He hesitated. Then, hurriedly:-"I got a little present for you--nothing much, but your mother was quite
willing. In fact, we bought it together."
He went back into his room, and returned with a small box.
"With all sorts of good luck," he said, and placed it in her hands.
"How dear of you! And may I look now?"
"I wish you would. Because, if you would rather have something else--"
She opened the box with excited fingers. Ticking away on its satin bed was
a small gold watch.
"You'll need it, you see," he explained nervously, "It wasn't extravagant
under the circumstances. Your mother's watch, which you had intended to
take, had no second-hand. You'll need a second-hand to take pulses, you
know."
"A watch," said Sidney, eyes on it. "A dear little watch, to pin on and
not put in a pocket. Why, you're the best person!"
"I was afraid you might think it presumptuous," he said. "I haven't any
right, of course. I thought of flowers--but they fade and what have you?
You said that, you know, about Joe's roses. And then, your mother said you
wouldn't be offended--"
"Don't apologize for making me so happy!" she cried. "It's wonderful,
really. And the little hand is for pulses! How many queer things you
know!"
After that she must pin it on, and slip in to stand before his mirror and
inspect the result. It gave Le Moyne a queer thrill to see her there in
the room among his books and his pipes. It make him a little sick, too, in
view of to-morrow and the thousand-odd to-morrows when she would not be
there.
"I've kept you up shamefully,'" she said at last, "and you get up so early.
I shall write you a note from the hospital, delivering a little lecture on
extravagance--because how can I now, with this joy shining on me? And
about how to keep Katie in order about your socks, and all sorts of things.
And--and now, good-night."