had advanced a few steps beyond the wooden sides of the storm-door;
but through its cracks he heard a clear voice answer: "Mercy no! Not
on such a night."

She was there, then, close to him, only a thin board between. In
another moment she would step forth into the night, and his eyes,
accustomed to the obscurity, would discern her as clearly as though
she stood in daylight. A wave of shyness pulled him back into the
dark angle of the wall, and he stood there in silence instead of
making his presence known to her. It had been one of the wonders of
their intercourse that from the first, she, the quicker, finer, more
expressive, instead of crushing him by the contrast, had given him
something of her own ease and freedom; but now he felt as heavy and
loutish as in his student days, when he had tried to "jolly" the
Worcester girls at a picnic.

He hung back, and she came out alone and paused within a few yards
of him. She was almost the last to leave the hall, and she stood
looking uncertainly about her as if wondering why he did not show
himself. Then a man's figure approached, coming so close to her that
under their formless wrappings they seemed merged in one dim
outline.

"Gentleman friend gone back on you? Say, Matt, that's tough! No, I
wouldn't be mean enough to tell the other girls. I ain't as low-down
as that." (How Frome hated his cheap banter!) "But look a here,
ain't it lucky I got the old man's cutter down there waiting for
us?"

Frome heard the girl's voice, gaily incredulous: "What on earth's