As it
is, you may be seen leaving the house in the small hours of the
morning."
A little shiver passed through him. All the splendid warmth of living
seemed to be fading away from his heart and thoughts. He was back again
in that empty world of unreal persons. Jane had been a dream. This
kindly faced, beautiful but anxious girl was not the Jane to whose arms
he had come hotfoot through the streets.
"I ought not to have come," he muttered.
"Dear, I don't blame you in the least," she answered, "only be very
careful as you go out. If there is any one passing in the street, wait
for a moment."
"I understand," he promised. "I will take the greatest care."
He took up his hat and coat mechanically. She thrust her arm through
his and led him to the door, looking furtively into his face as though
afraid of what she might find there. Her own heart was beginning to
beat faster. She was filled with a queer sense of failure.
"You are not angry with me, Andrew? You know that I have been happy to
see you?"
"I am not angry," he answered.
There was a little choking in her throat.
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