But the whole subject was difficult to the girl, and it was he who broke the silence, speaking his pedestrian’s apology again.  And this time, so swift and straight had they come, Cally replied, with quite a natural laugh: 

“Never mind....  Here I am.”

She halted before the white-stone steps of home, and glanced involuntarily toward the windows.  Independent though she felt since day before yesterday, she would not have cared to have mamma glance out just then....

“I hadn’t realized that we were here already!”

“Oh, it isn’t far, as you see....  But it was good of you to bring me.”

It was a parting speech; but Cally said it with no inflection of finality.  So, at least, it seemed to be considered.  V. Vivian stood drawing O’s with his stick on the flagging belonging to Mr. Heth, of the Works.  He took some pains to make them exactly round.

“I hope,” said he, “that your—­your annoyance over this matter won’t interfere with your interest in the Settlement.  I hope you still think of—­of helping in the work.”

“Oh!...  I don’t know,” replied Cally, having thought but little about this since Hugo’s reentrance into her life.  “Mr. Pond, you see, convinced me pretty well of my uselessness—­”

“It’s only his manner!—­he’s always so mortally afraid that people aren’t in earnest.  I’m certain he could find—­ah—­suitable and congenial work, if you—­you cared to give him another chance.  And I’m certain you’d like him, when you knew him a little better.”

“You like him?”

“I put him above any man I know, except only Mr. Dayne.”

The tall electric light four doors below, which so irritated the Heths when they sat on their flowered balcony on summer nights, shone now full upon the old family enemy.  It was observed that he wore, with his new blue suit, a quaint sprigged waistcoat which looked as if it also might have come down from his Uncle Armistead, along with the money he had given away.  The old-fashioned vestment seemed to go well with the young man’s face....

Cally stood upon the bottom step of the House, and drew her hand along the rail.  It had occurred to her to tell him that she would probably go away to live; but now she only said, half-absently: 

“I might think about it, and let you know later.”

And then, as he accepted her tone as dismissal, and his hand started toward his hat, she spoke impulsively and hurriedly: 

“Tell me, is it your feeling that this matter—­the Works—­makes it necessary for us to—­to go on quarreling?”

The two stood looking at each other.  And in each, in this moment, though in differing degree, the desire for harmoniousness was meeting the more intangible feeling that harmony between them seemed to involve surrender in another direction.

“How could it be?” said the man.  “It’s what I’ve been trying to say.  But I naturally supposed that you—­”