"I'll be here."

He stooped and kissed her, turned and passed quickly out.

She stood for a moment in the shadows and listened to the throb of the car until it melted into the roar of the city's life, her heart beating with a joy so new it was pain.

CHAPTER VII. A VAIN APPEAL

A week passed on the wings of magic.

Every day at four o'clock the car was waiting at her door. The drab interior of the school-room had lost its terror. No annoyance could break the spell that reigned within. Her patience was inexhaustible, her temper serene.

Walking with swift step down the Avenue to her home she wondered vaguely how she could have been lonely in all the music and the wonder of New York's marvelous life. The windows of the stores were already crowded with Christmas cheer, and busy thousands passed through their doors.

Each man or woman was a swift messenger of love. Somewhere in the shadows of the city's labyrinth a human heart would beat with quickened joy for every step that pressed about these crowded counters. Love had given new eyes to see, new ears to hear and a new heart to feel the joys and sorrows of life.

She hadn't given her consent yet. She was still asking her silly heart to be sure of herself. Of her lover, the depth and tenderness, the strength and madness of his love, there could be no doubt. Each day he had given new tokens.

For Saturday afternoon she had told him not to bring the car.

When they reached Fifth Avenue, across the Square, he stopped abruptly and faced her with a curious, uneasy look:

"Say, tell me why you wanted to walk?"

"I had a good reason," she said evasively.

"Yes, but why? It's a sin to lay that car up a day like this. Look here----"

He stopped and tried to gulp down his fears.

"Look here--you're not going to throw me down after leading me to the very top of the roof, are you?"

She looked up with tender assurance.

"Not today----"

"Then why hoof it? Let me run round to the garage and shoot her out. You can wait for me at the Waldorf. I've always wanted to push my buzz-wagon up to that big joint and wait for my girl to trip down the steps."

"No. I've a plan of my own today. Let me have my way."

"All righto--just so you're happy."

"I am happy," she answered soberly.

At the foot of the broad stairs of the Library she paused and looked up smilingly at its majestic front.

"Come in a moment," she said softly.

He followed her wonderingly into the vaulted hall and climbed the grand staircase to the reading-room. She walked slowly to the shelf on which the Century Dictionary rested and looked laughingly at the seat in which she sat Saturday afternoon a week ago at exactly this hour.

Jim smiled, leaned close and whispered:

"I got you, Kiddo--I got you! Get out of here quick or I'll grab you and kiss you!"

She started and blushed.

"Don't you dare!"

"Beat it then--beat it--or I can't help it!"

She turned quickly and they passed through the catalogue room and lightly down the stairs.

He held her soft, round arm with a grip that sent the blood tingling to the roots of her brown hair.

"You understand now?" she whispered.

"You bet! We walk the same way up the Avenue, through the Park to the little house on the laurel hill. And you're goin' to be sweet to me today, my Kiddo--I just feel it. I----"

"Don't be too sure, sir!" she interrupted, solemnly.

He laughed aloud.

"You can't fool me now--and I'm crazy as a June bug! You know I like to walk--if I can be with you!"

At the Park entrance she stopped again and smiled roguishly.

"We'll find a seat in one of the summer houses along the Fifty-ninth Street side."

"All right," he responded.

"No--we'll go on where we started!"

With a laugh, she slipped her hand through his arm.

"You were a little scared of me last Saturday about this time, weren't you?"

"Just a little----"

"It hurt me, too, but I didn't let you know."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right now--it's all right. Gee I but we've traveled some in a week, haven't we?"

"I've known you more than a week," she protested gayly.

"Sure--I've known you since I was born."