At half-past five he went into the Busy Bee. Mamie was not busy. She
was standing near a glass counter, listlessly leaning one elbow against
it. She looked pale, he thought, and yet dainty—dainty and sweet, and
she’d come out of Gillen Row. It had been a hot summer. He was glad
September was here.
She smiled as she saw him. How little she was! Hadn’t she missed him
at all? She had cared a little for him—he felt that. He could make her
care again, if she’d give him a chance.
“I must see you,” he told her.
She looked around, rather frightened. He had forgotten that she had
to be careful about her position—that she actually was forced to sell
candy in the Busy Bee.
“Don’t you want to see me?” he added.
“Of course.”
“You won’t meet me in Elm Street?”
“I don’t dare. I told you. You don’t understand—I—can’t meet you.”
“May I come to see you?”
“I—I told you—”
“But I _must_ see you. Let me call.”
“I don’t—well, all right then, if you want to come. I shouldn’t let
you. My father—still, if you want to. I live way down in Gillen Row. We
are—are very poor, you know. If you want—”
“Of course I do. Why didn’t you let me come, before? May I come right
away, to-night?”
She nodded.
“Where do you live?”
“The third house after Birch Street, Number 530. It’s a little cottage.”
“Go driving with me?”
“I—I told you I couldn’t—at night—and I never have time, other times.”
“To-night then, about eight. How’s that?”
Mamie nodded again, smiled. Embury bought a box of candy to cover his
embarrassment.
Going into a candy shop to make an engagement with a shopgirl—trembling
when she spoke to him, grinning and ogling over the counter! He had
never thought himself capable of that.
As he ate his dinner the engagement became something vastly important,
a bit different, a bit devilish. He’d take her out in his car. Of
course. It would be a moonlight night. He understood girls. A simple
girl like that—