In these days of humbled
pride self was paramount, though it was a self he despised. There was no time
for love. Who was he for a girl to lean upon?--he who could not stand erect
himself!
He bade a stiff goodbye to his neighbors, and to Nancy he vouchsafed little
more. A handshake, with no thrill of love in it such as might have furnished
her palm, at least, some memories to dwell upon; a few stilted words of
leave-taking; a halting, meaningless sentence or two about his "botch" of
life--then he walked away from the Wentworth doorstep. But halfway down the
garden path, where the shriveled hollyhocks stood like sentinels, did a wave
of something different sweep over him--a wave of the boyish, irresponsible
past when his heart had wings and could fly without fear to its mate--a wave
of the past that was rushing through Nancy's mind, wellnigh burying her in its
bitter-sweet waters. For he lifted his head, and suddenly retracing his steps,
he came toward her, and, taking her hand again, said forlornly: "You 'll see
me back when my luck turns, Nancy."
Nancy knew that the words might mean little or much, according to the manner
in which they were uttered, but to her hurt pride and sore, shamed
woman-instinct, they were a promise, simply because there was a choking sound
in Justin's voice and tears in Justin's eyes.
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