He
couldn't blame the girl for having trusted him, nor for proving so
perfectly adequate to the unconventional situation he'd created. He
couldn't reproach her, even in his thoughts, for the frankly expressed
pleasure she took in the leisured dignity of the little restaurant, with
its modestly sumptuous appointments (she even let him see that she
appreciated the fineness of the napery and the handsomeness of the
tableware; admitted, indeed, how sharply it contrasted with what she'd
been used to lately), nor for the real appreciation she showed of the
supper he selected.

But the moment he had been planning, counting on for days--weeks, if it
came to that--with an excitement he couldn't deny, a tensity that had
increased as the prospect of it drew nearer, was not exciting nor tense
for her. If anything, she'd relaxed a little, as if the big moment of
her day had passed--or, postponed by this affair of his, were still to
come. Once or twice when her gaze detached itself from him and rested
unfocused on the other side of the room, he saw little changes of
expression go over her face that didn't relate to him at all. He simply
wasn't in focus, that was the size of it. He had never seen her look
lovelier, more completely desirable than she did right now, dressed as
she was in her very simple street clothes and relaxed by the surrounding
quiet and comfort and her own fatigue. And yet, all alone with him as
she had so confidingly permitted herself to be, and near enough to reach
with the bare stretching out of a hand, she'd never been further away
nor seemed more unattainable.

As she came back from one of these momentary excursions she found him
staring at her, and with a faint flush and a smile of contrition she
pulled herself back, as it were, into his presence.

"I know you're tired," he said bruskly. "But I fancied you'd be tireder
in the morning and I have to leave for New York on the fast train. So,
you see, it was now or never." Strangely enough, that got her. She
stared at him a little incredulous, almost in consternation.

"Do you mean you're going away?" she asked. "To-morrow?"

"Of course," he said rather sharply. "I've nothing more to stay around
here for." He added, as she still seemed not to have got it through her
head. "My contract with Goldsmith and Block ended to-night, with the
opening performance."

"Of course," she said in deprecation of her stupidity, "I didn't think
you were going to stay indefin