that has rarely tasted happiness.''

She glanced up at him with ingenuous feeling in her eyes and
managed to stammer: ``I hope we'll meet again.''

``Couldn't I come down to see you Sunday evening?''

``There's a concert in the Square. If you're there I might see
you.''

``Until Sunday night,'' he said, and made her feel that the three
intervening days would be for him three eternities.

She thought of him all the way home in the car, and until she
fell asleep. His sonorous name was in her mind when she awoke in
the morning; and, as she stood in the store that day, waiting on
the customers, she looked often at the door, and, with the
childhood-surviving faith of youth in the improbable and
impossible, hoped that he would appear. For the first time she
was definitely discontented with her lot, was definitely
fascinated by the idea that there might be something higher and
finer than the simple occupations and simple enjoyments which had
filled her life thus far.


In the evening after supper her father and mother left her and
her brother August in charge, and took their usual stroll for
exercise and for the profound delight of a look at their
flat-houses--those reminders of many years of toil and thrift.
They had spent their youth, she as cook, he as helper, in one of