He couldn't forget. He was too proud to lay himself open to yet
another of her laughing snubs.

So he shook his head again. "I dunno," he said. "It's like that.
It's something that can't be explained."

She sat on the arm of the chair with her hands round a knee. A
little of her pink ankle showed. The pipe that she had dropped when
his voice had come up from the street lay on the floor.

His answer had disappointed her; she didn't quite know why. The old
Marty would have been franker and more spontaneous. The old Marty
might have made her laugh with his boyish ingenuousness, but he
would have warmed her and made her feel delightfully vain. Could it
be that she was responsible for this new Marty? Was Alice too
terribly right when she had talked about armor turning into
broadcloth because of her selfish desire to remain a kid a little
longer? She was afraid to ask him where he was when he had felt that
she wanted him, and she hated herself for that.

There was a short silence.

These two young things had lost the complete confidence that had
been theirs before they had come to that great town. What a pity!

"Well," he asked, standing straight like a man ready to take orders,
"why did you call?"

And then an overwhelming shyness seized her. It had seemed easy
enough in thought to tell Martin that she was ready to cross the