They waited impatiently for the three bent figures to move off,
and then she kissed him until the sky seemed to fade out and all
her smiles and tears to vanish in an ecstasy of eternal seconds.

Afterward they walked slowly back together, while on the corners
twilight played at somnolent black-and-white checkers with the
end of day.

"You'll be up about mid-January," he said, "and you've got to
stay a month at least. It'll be slick. There's a winter carnival
on, and if you've never really seen snow it'll be like fairy-land
to you. There'll be skating and skiing and tobogganing and
sleigh-riding, and all sorts of torchlight parades on snow-shoes.
They haven't had one for years, so they're gong to make it a
knock-out."

"Will I be cold, Harry?" she asked suddenly.

"You certainly won't. You may freeze your nose, but you won't be
shivery cold. It's hard and dry, you know."

"I guess I'm a summer child. I don't like any cold I've ever
seen."

She broke off and they were both silent for a minute.

"Sally Carol," he said very slowly, "what do you say to--March?"

"I say I love you."