"You said you didn't like being with me."

"I didn't like it."

"Why not?" Fire blazed suddenly from the gray forests of his
eyes.

"Because I didn't. I've formed the habit of liking you. I've
been thinking of nothing much else for two days."

"Well, if you---"

"Wait a minute," he interrupted. "I've got something to say. It's
this: in six weeks I'll be eighteen years old. When I'm
eighteen years old I'm coming up to New York to see you. Is
there some place in New York where we can go and not have a lot
of people in the room?"

"Sure!" smiled Marcia. "You can come up to my 'partment. Sleep
on the couch if you want to."

"I can't sleep on couches," he said shortly. "But I want to talk
to you."

"Why, sure," repeated Marcia. "in my 'partment."

In his excitement Horace put his hands in his pockets.

"All right--just so I can see you alone. I want to talk to you
as we talked up in my room."