"I didn't really intend to wait until to-morrow," he said. "I got
up with the full intention of coming here to-day, if I did it over
the wreck of my practice. At eleven o'clock this morning I held up
a consultation ten minutes to go to Yardsleys and buy a tie, for
this express purpose. Perhaps you have noticed it already."

"I have indeed. It's a wonderful tie."

"Neat but not gaudy, eh?" He grinned at her, happily. "You know,
you might steer me a bit about my ties. I have the taste of an
African savage. I nearly bought a purple one, with red stripes.
And Aunt Lucy thinks I should wear white lawn, like David!"

They talked, those small, highly significant nothings which are
only the barrier behind which go on the eager questionings and
unspoken answers of youth and love. They had known each other for
years, had exchanged the same give and take of neighborhood talk
when they met as now. To-day nothing was changed, and everything.

Then, out of a clear sky, he said:

"I may be going away before long, Elizabeth."

He was watching her intently. She had a singular feeling that
behind this, as behind everything that afternoon, was something not
spoken. Something that related to her. Perhaps it was because of
his tone.

"You don't mean-not to stay?"