g in the sunshine and the autumn sharpness of the air; and her
thoughts were not so much of Ditmar as of something beyond him, of which
he was the medium. She was going, not to meet him, but to meet that.
When she reached the office she felt weak, her fingers trembled as she
took off her hat and jacket and began to sort out the mail. And she had
to calm herself with the assurance that her relationship with Ditmar
had undergone no change. She had merely met him by the canal, and he
had talked to her. That was all. He had, of course, taken her arm: it
tingled when she remembered it. But when he suddenly entered the room
her heart gave a bound. He closed the door, he took off his hat, and
stood gazing at her--while she continued arranging letters. Presently
she was forced to glance at him. His bearing, his look, his confident
smile all proclaimed that he, at least, believed things to be changed.
He glowed with health and vigour, with an aggressiveness from which she
shrank, yet found delicious.

"How are you this morning?" he said at last--this morning as
distinguished from all other mornings.

"I'm well, as usual," she answered. She herself was sometimes surprised
by her ability to remain outwardly calm.

"Why did you run away from me last night?"

"I didn't run away, I had to go home," she said, still arranging the
letters.

"We could have had a little walk. I don't believe you had to go home at
all. You just wanted an excuse to get away from me."

"I didn't need an excuse," she told him. He moved toward her, but she
took a paper from the desk and carried it to a file across the room.

"I thought we were going to be friends," he said.

"Being friends doesn't mean being foolish," she retorted. "And Mr.
Orcutt's waiting to see you."

"Let him wait."

He sat down at his desk, but his blood was warm, and he read the
typewritten words of the topmost letter of the pile without so much as
grasping the meaning of them. From time to time he glanced up at Janet
as she flitted about the room. By George, she was more desirable than he
had ever dared to imagine! He felt temporarily balked, but hopeful. On
his way to the mill he had dwelt with Epicurean indulgence on this sight
of her, and he had not been disappointed. He had also thought that he
might venture upon more than the mere feasting of his eyes, yet found
an inspiring alleviation in the fact that she by no means absolutely
repulsed him. Her attitude toward him ha