"You’re very mysterious—can’t I be told what it is?" "Why should you be told?" That riled him, I could hear it in his voice. "As a friend, or if I don’t come under that head, as a fellow who’s got the frosty mit and wants to know why." "I don’t think that’s any reason. I have no engagement with you and I have with—someone else." "Just tell me one thing—is it a man or a woman?" She began to laugh again, and if I’d been the man at the other end of the wire that laugh would have made me wild. "Which do you think?" she asked. "I don’t think, I _know_," and _I_ knew that he was mad. "Well, if you know," she said as sweet as pie, "I needn’t tell you any more. I’ll say good-bye." "No," he shouted, "don’t hang up—wait. What do you want to torment me for?" Then he got sort of coaxing, "It isn’t kind to treat a fellow this way. Can’t you tell me who it is?" "No, that’s a secret. You can’t know a thing till I choose to tell you and I don’t choose now." "If I come over Sunday afternoon will you see me?" "What time?" "Any time you say—I’m your humble slave, as you know." "I’m going out about seven." "Where?" "That’s another secret." I think a child listening to that conversation would have seen he was getting madder every minute and yet he was so afraid she’d cut him off that he had to keep it under and talk pleasant. "Look here," he said, "I’ve something I want to say to you awfully. If I run over in my car and get there round six-thirty, can you see me for a few minutes?" She didn’t answer at once. Then she said slow as if she was undecided: "Not at the house." "I didn’t mean at the house. Say in Maple Lane, by the gate. I won’t keep you more than five or ten minutes." "Six-thirty’s rather late." "Well, any time you say." "Can’t you be there exactly at six-fifteen?" "If that’s a condition." "It is. If you’re late you won’t find me. I’ll be gone"—she began to laugh again—"taking my secret with me." "I’ll be there on the dot." "Very well, then, you can come—at the gate just as the clock marks one quarter after six. And, maybe, if you’re good, I’ll tell you the secret. Good-bye until then—try not to be too curious. It’s a bad habit and I’ve seen signs of it in you lately. Good-bye." Before he could say another word she’d disconnected. I leaned back in my chair thinking it over. What was she up to? What was the secret? And who was the man? "Run over in his car"—that looked like someone from one of the big estates. How many of them _had_ she buzzing round her? And then, for all I was so downhearted, I couldn’t help smiling to think of those two supposing they were talking so secluded and an East Side tenement girl taking it all in. Little did I guess then that me breaking the rules that way, instead of destroying me was going to——But that doesn’t come in here. And now I come to Sunday the twenty-first, a date I’ll never forget.