"Let's walk along. You're cold." Buffeted, they went along the deserted drive, passing regularly from shadow into the burst of light under the yellow globes that hung above them. "I like that black sky," said Bill. "In New York we never have that." "No." Catherine glanced westward, through bare limbs of trees. "See, there's the city glare, back there." She was warm again, her blood tingling under the dark rush of the wind; the black hidden movement of the water, the cold vasty black of the sky were exciting, like a shouted challenge. "Here is shelter from the wind." Bill drew her into an angle made by the porch of a small summer pavilion. "You can put your head out to see the lake, without being knocked flat." The wind racketed in the loose boards nailed along the lake side of the porch. Catherine leaned back, laughing, out of reach of the gusts. She could just catch the dim outline of Bill's face, his strong, aquiline profile. "Bill!" She felt suddenly that in the dark, windy night there was nothing else human except Bill and herself; she wanted to burrow into his silence, his withdrawal. Her fingers brushed his arm in soft demand. "Great, isn't it?" His voice was low and warm, walking under the rush of the wind. "Blows the nonsense clear out of you." He moved slightly so that his shoulder sheltered her. "Warm enough?" "I shouldn't like to be here alone." She couldn't see his face distinctly--shadowy eye sockets, dark mouth. "I'd feel too little! You keep me life-size." Silence, warm and comforting, like a secret place within the noise of the wind rattling at the boards, churning up the ice cakes. "I can't pry into him." Catherine's feeling broke into splinters of thought. "It wouldn't be fair. He'd hate it. Digging under to see his roots. Something passionless and fine in this--no strife--as if he accepted me--whole. Dear Bill." "Well?" He was smiling at her, she knew. "You have a train to catch, haven't you?" * * * * * They stood together in the downtown station. Bill had collected her luggage from the check-room, had brought a bunch of violets for her from the little florist's counter. "It's Valentine's Day, you know." He watched gravely as she fastened them against the soft beaver of her collar. "I'm starting East to-morrow," he said. "I'll see your family before you do, won't I?" "You can give them my love first hand. Tell them I'm coming soon." "I'll tell them you are so triumphant and successful that they will be fortunate to have you again." Catherine laughed softly. A local train was announced, draining off the waiting people, leaving them almost alone in the station. "You know," she said, quietly, "you puff me up, Bill. Not when you say ridiculous things like that, but all the time." Under his seeking, hungry eyes, she flushed. "And I am grateful."