She was hushed. Could he mean that he suffered in conscious conflict? Could it be that he was aware at all of that imprisoned thing she saw back of his eyes? He had halted, and now she turned again for him to go on. “I hoped that you, you of all, might understand,” he said. “Why, it was from you that the whole thing started.” He seemed actually to be making himself believe it. She felt herself trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Do you know you’re changed?” he said, in sudden exultation. “Do you know you’re five times as charming? What’s happened?” “Nothing has happened,” said Pidge. “It was the strangest shock, in the restaurant when I saw you. I knew it was you, and yet you’ve put on something--out of the ordinary.” “Oh, don’t.... I must go back to the office now.” “The bank is just half a block. We’ve been walking in circles. I hadn’t a check in my pocket.... I wanted to walk with you anyway. Do you really have to get back to the office?” “Oh, yes.” “Couldn’t you--couldn’t we go down on the river or to a show somewhere? I know what you’re thinking: that if this meant so much to me, how could I let it go for nearly a year. But you’ll understand. You’ll see what I mean and what I’m up against. The thing was too big for me to rush in. I had to wait. But now that you’ve come, I can’t let you go.” “I must go back.” “To-night then. Couldn’t I meet you at _The Public Square_ at five and have supper?” “Oh no. I must go home--first.” “May I call for you at Harrow Street, say at seven, or before that? Say, couldn’t we go to that old restaurant where we went that night?” This idea had come to Pidge before he spoke; exactly, perhaps, as it caught his fancy. “Yes, I could----” Pidge cleared her voice, and spoke again above the roar of the street. “Yes, I could.” Then because she had lifted her voice, she seemed to hear her own tones unforgetably, as if her soul echoed back the words. “But I must hurry back now,” she added. “Let’s get this bank thing finished.” But when they reached the door of the bank they found it closed for the rest of the day. XXI THE DINNER COAT JOHN HIGGINS came up through the newspapers and magazine editorial rooms in those brave days when a typewriter did not always go with a man’s desk, but a cuspidor nearly always. Even yet, the editor of _The Public Square_ tucked a piece of fine-cut between his cheek and lower jaw after breakfast in the morning, and forgot about it just so long as it was there. The fact that he smoked from time to time caused no inconvenience to the wad of shredded leaf. He complained of indigestion and gave himself wholeheartedly to various forms of diet.