“It was sweet—­but no more.  How long it is since I kissed you!  I am glad.  I shall pay for it heavily—­but I am glad!”

He smiled on her as on a child who speaks foolishness.

“You cannot renounce now!” he said.

“I shall renounce.  I have stolen this morning—­would you rob me in turn?”

“It will be the first kiss of a million,” he said.

“It will be the last forever,” she answered.  “But remember, if you do not kiss me, no man ever shall.”

He busied himself with guiding the automobile; it was no time to hurl out the intense things which he had to say.  But when they had entered the smooth park driveway, he came out with it: 

“Do you think that I respect that obstacle?  Can you think that I believe such moonshine even if you do?  And do you suppose that I am going to let Aunt Paula keep you now?”

She touched his arm again; let her hand rest there as before.

“Dear,” she said, “I have never thought that you believed.  I have felt this always in the bottom of your heart.  I only ask you not to spoil this day for me.  I have stolen it.  Let me enjoy it.  I shall not put you out of my life—­at least not yet.  Later, when we are both calm, we will talk that out.  But let it rest now, for I am tired—­and happy.”

So they drove along, her light hand making warm his arm, and said no word until they came near the Eighty-Sixth Street entrance.  He looked at her with a question in his eyes.

“Leave me where you found me,” she answered; “I shall go in alone.”

“But will you tell your Aunt Paula that you met me?”

“I shall tell her—­yes.  Not all, perhaps, but that I rode with you.  What is the use of concealment?  She will know—­”

“Her spirits?”

“Dear, do not mock me.  They tell her everything she wants to know about me.”  They had drawn up at the park entrance now; before he could assist, she had jumped down.

“Good-by—­I must go quickly—­you must come soon—­I will write.”

He stood beside his car, watching her back.  Once she turned and waved to him; when she went on, she walked with a spring, an exultation, as though from new life.  He watched until she was only a blue atom among the foot-passengers, until a park policeman thumped him on the shoulder and informed him that this was not an automobile stand.

* * * * *

When Dr. Blake woke next morning, it was with a sense of delicious expectancy.  He formulated this as his eyes opened.  She had promised to write; the mail, due for distribution in the Club at a quarter past eight, might bring a note from her.  He timed his dressing carefully, that he might arrive downstairs neither before nor after the moment of fulfilment or disappointment.  He saw, as he crossed the corridor to his mail-box, that the clerk was just dropping a square, white envelope.  He peered through the glass before he felt for his keys.  It was Annette’s hand.