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AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

 

"I know," said Isabelle softly. 

 

"Maybe we'll never meet again like this--I have darned hard luck 

sometimes." He was leaning away from her on the other arm of the lounge, 

but she could see his eyes plainly in the dark. 

 

"You'll meet me again--silly." There was just the slightest emphasis 

on the last word--so that it became almost a term of endearment. He 

continued a bit huskily: 

 

"I've fallen for a lot of people--girls--and I guess you have, 

too--boys, I mean, but, honestly, you--" he broke off suddenly and 

leaned forward, chin on his hands: "Oh, what's the use--you'll go your 

way and I suppose I'll go mine." 

 

Silence for a moment. Isabelle was quite stirred; she wound her 

handkerchief into a tight ball, and by the faint light that streamed 

over her, dropped it deliberately on the floor. Their hands touched for 

an instant, but neither spoke. Silences were becoming more frequent 

and more delicious. Outside another stray couple had come up and were 

experimenting on the piano in the next room. After the usual preliminary 

of "chopsticks," one of them started "Babes in the Woods" and a light 

tenor carried the words into the den: 

 

 

"Give me your hand 

I'll understand 

We're off to slumberland." 

 

 

Isabelle hummed it softly and trembled as she felt Amory's hand close 

over hers. 

 

"Isabelle," he whispered. "You know I'm mad about you. You _do_ give a 

darn about me." 

 

"Yes." 

 

"How much do you care--do you like any one better?" 

 

"No." He could scarcely hear her, although he bent so near that he felt 

her breath against his cheek. 

 

"Isabelle, I'm going back to college for six long months, and why 

shouldn't we--if I could only just have one thing to remember you by--" 

 

"Close the door...." Her voice had just stirred so that he half wondered 

whether she had spoken at all. As he swung the door softly shut, the 

music seemed quivering just outside. 

 

 

"Moonlight is bright, 

Kiss me good night." 

 

 

What a wonderful song, she thought--everything was wonderful to-night, 

most of all this romantic scene in the den, with their hands clinging 


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