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"And a precious good thing for you that you haven't!" cried Sidney, rather

shocked.

There was silence for a moment between them. Sidney, to tell the truth,

was obsessed by a vision of Joe, young and hot-eyed, being haled to the

police station by virtue of his betrothal responsibilities. The boy was

vacillating between relief at having spoken and a heaviness of spirit that

came from Sidney's lack of enthusiastic response.

"Well, what do you think about it?"

"If you are asking me to give you permission to waylay and assault every

man who dares to look at me--"

"I guess this is all a joke to you."

She leaned over and put a tender hand on his arm.

"I don't want to hurt you; but, Joe, I don't want to be engaged yet. I

don't want to think about marrying. There's such a lot to do in the world

first. There's such a lot to see and be."

"Where?" he demanded bitterly. "Here on this Street? Do you want more

time to pull bastings for your mother? Or to slave for your Aunt Harriet?

Or to run up and down stairs, carrying towels to roomers? Marry me and let

me take care of you."

Once again her dangerous sense of humor threatened her. He looked so

boyish, sitting there with the moonlight on his bright hair, so inadequate

to carry out his magnificent offer. Two or three of the star blossoms from

the tree had fallen all his head. She lifted them carefully away.

"Let me take care of myself for a while. I've never lived my own life.

You know what I mean. I'm not unhappy; but I want to do something. And

some day I shall,--not anything big; I know. I can't do that,--but

something useful. Then, after years and years, if you still want me, I'll

come back to you."

"How soon?"

"How can I know that now? But it will be a long time."

He drew a long breath and got up. All the joy had gone out of the summer

night for him, poor lad. He glanced down the Street, where Palmer Howe had

gone home happily with Sidney's friend Christine. Palmer would always know

how he stood with Christine. She would never talk about doing things, or

being things. Either she would marry Palmer or she would not. But Sidney

was not like that. A fellow did not even caress her easily. When he had

only kissed her arm--He trembled a little at the memory.