I mean the future, you know."
"My girl would. I'm engaged."
"Are you really?"
"Yes. Don't say a word to anybody, please, but I am. I may not come
back next year."
"But you're only twenty! Give up college?"
"Why, Amory, you were saying a minute ago--"
"Yes," Amory interrupted, "but I was just wishing. I wouldn't think of
leaving college. It's just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights.
I sort of feel they're never coming again, and I'm not really getting
all I could out of them. I wish my girl lived here. But marry--not a
chance. Especially as father says the money isn't forthcoming as it used
to be."
"What a waste these nights are!" agreed Alec.
But Amory sighed and made use of the nights. He had a snap-shot of
Isabelle, enshrined in an old watch, and at eight almost every night he
would turn off all the lights except the desk lamp and, sitting by the
open windows with the picture before him, write her rapturous letters.
. . . Oh it's so hard to write you what I really _feel_ when I
think about you so much; you've gotten to mean to me a _dream_ that
I can't put on paper any more.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133