"No," she replied, in tones of sudden decision, "I'd be pleased to go with you. I can do what I planned to-night any other time." "Thank you, Miss Sprunt." Her fingers trembled as she worked, and his suddenly closed over them. "You poor, tired little girl," he repeated. She gulped down her emotions. "Miss Sprunt, this is neither the time nor the place for me to express myself, yet somehow our great moments come when we least expect them." She let her limp fingers rest in his; she was strangely calm. "I know it is always a great pleasure to have you come in, Mr. Chase." "The first time I dropped in was chance, Miss Sprunt. You can see for yourself that I am not the sort of fellow who goes in for the little niceties like manicures. I'm what you might call the seedy kind. But the second time I dropped in for a manicure was not accident, nor the third time, nor the tenth--it was _you_." "You've been extravagant all on account of me?" she parried. "I've been more than that on account of you, dear girl. I've been consumed night and day by the sweet thought of you." "Oh-h-h!" She placed one hand at her throat. "Miss Sprunt, I am not asking anything of you; I simply want you to know me better. I want to begin to-night to try to teach you to reciprocate the immense regard--the love I feel for you." She closed her eyes for a moment; his firm clasp of her hand tightened. "You'll think I'm a bold girl, Mr. Chase; you'll--you'll--" "Yes?" "You'll think I'm everything I ought not to be, but you--you can't teach me what I already know." "Gertrude!" She nodded, swallowing back unaccountable tears. "I never let myself hope, because I didn't think there was a chance, Mr. Chase." "Dear, is it possible without knowing me--who, what I am--you--" "I only know _you_," she said, softly. "That is all that matters." "My little girl," he whispered, regarding her with unshed tears shining in his eyes. She placed her two hands over her face for a moment. "What is it, dear?" She burrowed deeper into her hands. "I'm so happy," she said, between her fingers. They regarded each other with almost incredulous eyes, seeking to probe the web of enchantment their love had woven. "I do not deserve this happiness, dearest." But his voice was a paean of triumph. "It is I who do not deserve," she said, in turn. "You are too--too everything for me." They talked in whispers until there were two appointees ranged along the wall. He was loath to go; she urged him gently. "I can't work while you are here, dear; return for me at six--no," she corrected, struck by a sudden thought, "at six-thirty." "Let me wait for you, dearest," he pleaded. She waggled a playful finger at him. "Good-by until later." "Until six-thirty, cruel one." "Yes." "There is so much to be said, Gertrude dear." "To-night." He left her lingeringly. They tried to cover up their fervent, low-voiced farewells with passive faces, but after he had departed her every feature was lyric.