ould never miss what he could no longer
give. She would be content with the hollow pretense their life
together would be, missing only her good times. But he must have her
beside him, to remind him that he was not free and never should be free
to go browsing in the green fields of love.

She would never know. Still, poor Shirley--none the less!

He set wearily to work once more.

The afternoon came to an end somehow. The clamor of machinery from the
shop was stilled. The other offices became silent. He supposed the
others had gone. A janitor made the rounds, closing the windows.
Doggedly David stuck to his table until he had completed the design he
was working on. Then he put the table in order for the night, donned
his hat and coat and started to leave.

But the corridor door of the adjoining office was open. He looked
in--and saw Esther, hatted, but still on her high stool by the desk,
looking out into the street. She heard him, started and turned, then
said:

"Oh, I thought every one was gone."

"Yes, I thought so, too."

They fell silent, awkwardly silent. The easy comradeship was no more.

Then she smiled; no one but David could have told that the smile was
forced.

"I was just thinking--isn't it funny?--that I'll be sorry to say
good-by to that dingy, rackety street. I'll hate to leave this office.
I've been here two years and--"

"You are leaving, then? I didn't know."

"Yes. At the end of the week."

He commanded his feet to go on. And they went--toward her. He rested
his folded arms heavily on the tall desk.

"I'll miss you," he said. "I'll miss you very much. It won't seem the
same here without you."

"But maybe you'll be leaving, too. If your plans are taken, you know."

"I'd forgotten them. I don't seem to care so much about them as I
ought--now they're out of my hands. And I can't count on them. I
suppose we'll not see each other very often after you leave here. I'll
be leaving your aunt's in a few days. My--my people are coming home."

"Oh! You'll be glad of that."

"Yes." And again, "Yes."

He let his eyes dwell hungrily on her, as though this were indeed their
farewell, drinking in every detail of her--the dark curling wisps
straying from under her hat, the slate-gray eyes, a little sad just
then, the slender girlish figure that seemed so frail. For that moment
there were no Shirley, no law, no honor.

"I'll miss you," he said again and fumbled at his c