Dry as a whisper came her answer, in a voice which lacked the nonchalance she tried to give it. "I daresay I'll be as friendly ... as you deserve."
"You've got to be a heap more friendly than that, partner."
They had come back to the boardwalk which marked the parting of the ways for them. She had won control of herself again and offered him a steady hand.
"I suppose we'll not see each other again.... Good-by."
He was suddenly conscious that he desired very greatly her regard and her approval.
"Is that all you have to say? Are you going to leave me like this?"
"What more is there to be said?" She asked it quietly, with the calm courage that had its birth in hopelessness.
"This much, at least. I don't release you from ... the old tie that used to bind us. We're still going to be dream friends. I haven't forgotten little Moya, who kissed me one night on the deck of the Victorian."
"She was a baby at the time," answered the girl.
He had not released her hand. Now, as he looked straight into the sweet face with eyes like troubled stars, it came to him on a flood of light that he had made a fatal mistake.
He dropped her fingers abruptly. "Good-by."
His crisp footfalls seemed to print themselves on a heart of lead. How could she know that he carried away with him a vision of sweet youth that was to endure!