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her, and it was as if with every glance they became more infatuated with each other and found it harder to part.
"To-morrow," said Thorndyke.
"Yes; to-morrow," Constance echoed, dreamily.
Thorndyke banged the door to and literally ran down the street.
When he came to himself, as it were, he was in his own room, smoking. He kept on saying to himself, "To-morrow—to-morrow," and then called himself a fool—a purely academic proceeding, however, which never really influences any issue between a man and his will. When at last he went to bed the sky was opalescent with the coming dawn.
