They fell to plucking, now here, now there.

The sun had got low when they retraced their steps to the train, and the
chill of evening long since had set in.

"You--you ought to told me it was so late."

"I didn't know it myself, Miss Miriam."

"Let's hurry. Mamma won't know where--how--"

"We'll make it back in thirty minutes."

"Let's run for that train."

"Give me your hand."

They were off and against the wind, their faces thrust forward and
upward. Homeward in the coach they were strangely silent, this time his
hat in her lap. At the entrance to her apartment-house he left her with
reiterated farewells.

"Then I can come to-morrow night, Miss Miriam?"

"Y-yes." And she stepped into the elevator. He waved through the
trellis-work, as she moved upward, brandishing his hat. She answered
with a flourish of her bunch of violets.

"Good-by!"