time. A mild current of wanting to see Nancy underran all his
days; he could control it, he decided, and to an extent he did. He
ate and worked and even slept in spite of it. But it was always
there, and it tired him, and made him feel old and sad.

And then they met; Bert idling through the September sweetness and
softness and goldness of the park, Nancy briskly taking her
business-like way from West Eightieth to East Seventy-second
Street. What Nancy experienced in the next hour Bert could only
guess, he knew that she was glad to see him, and that for some
reason she was entirely off guard. For himself, he was like a
thirsty animal that reaches trees, and shade, and the wide
dimpling surface of clear waters. He had so often imagined meeting
her, and had so longed to meet her, that he was actually a little
confused, and wanted shakily to laugh, and to cling to her.

He walked to Seventy-second Street, with her and then to tea at a
tiny place in Madison Avenue called the Prince Royal. And she
settled herself opposite him, just as in his dreams--only so much
more sweetly--and smiled at him from her dear faithful blue eyes,
as she laid aside her gloves.

She was wearing a large diamond, surrounded by topazes. Bert knew
that he had never seen this ring before, although it did not look
like a new one. However, the age of the ring signified nothing. He
wondered if Clark Belknap's mother had ever worn it, and if Clark
had just given it to Nancy...

She was full of heavenly interest and friendliness. But when they
were walking home she told him that she was so sorry--she couldn't