It was the same way next evening. And the next. In
fact, up to the very night before the Gay Lady's expected return, we
continued to cut short our days of waiting by as much as we could
venture to do without exciting the suspicion that we were weary of one
another.
On that last evening the Skeptic fastened himself to me. He insisted on
my walking with him in the garden.
"So she comes back to-morrow," said he, as we paced down the path, quite
as if he had just learned of the prospect of her return.
"I can hardly wait," said I.
"Neither can I," he agreed solemnly. "I knew I should miss her,
but--smoke and ashes!--I didn't dream the week would be a period of time
long enough for a ray of light to travel from Sirius to the earth and
back again."
"If she could only hear that!" said I.
"She's going to hear it," he declared with great earnestness. "She's
kept me quiet all summer, but--by a man's impatience!--she can't keep me
quiet any longer. Do you blame me?" he inquired, wheeling to look
intently at me through the September twilight.
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