knew from the change in his manner what was coming--indeed, she had been
wondering how soon it would come. Amory reached above their heads and
turned out the electric light, so that they were in the dark, except for
the red glow that fell through the door from the reading-room lamps.
Then he began:

"I don't know whether or not you know what you--what I'm going to say.
Lordy, Isabelle--this _sounds_ like a line, but it isn't."

"I know," said Isabelle softly.

"Maybe we'll never meet again like this--I have darned hard luck
sometimes." He was leaning away from her on the other arm of the lounge,
but she could see his eyes plainly in the dark.

"You'll meet me again--silly." There was just the slightest emphasis
on the last word--so that it became almost a term of endearment. He
continued a bit huskily:

"I've fallen for a lot of people--girls--and I guess you have, too--boys,
I mean, but, honestly, you--" he broke off suddenly and leaned forward,
chin on his hands: "Oh, what's the use--you'll go your way and I suppose
I'll go mine."

Silence for a moment. Isabelle was quite stirred; she wound her
handkerchief into a tight ball, and by the faint light that streamed over
her, dropped it deliberately on the floor. Their hands touched for an
instant, but neither spoke. Silences were becoming more frequent and
more delicious. Outside another stray couple had come up and were
experimenting on the piano in the next room. After the usual preliminary