Grasping his walking-stick the tighter he began tracing figures in the gravel, his thoughts following each line.
Suddenly his ears caught the sound of a quick step--one he thought strangely familiar.
He raised his eyes.
Kate had passed him and had given no sign of her presence! He sprang from his seat: "Kate!--KATE!--Are you going to treat me as my father treated me! Don't, please!--You'll never see me again--but don't cut me like that: I have never done anything but love you!" The girl came to a halt, but she did not turn her head, nor did she answer.
"Please, Kate--won't you speak to me?
It may be the last time I shall ever see you.

I am going away from Kennedy Square.

I was going to write you a letter; I came out here to think of what I ought to say--" She raised her head and half turned her trembling body so that she could see his face, her eyes reading his.
"I didn't think you wanted me to speak to you or you would have looked up." "I didn't see you until you had passed.

Can't we sit down here ?--no one will see us." She suffered him to take her hand and lead her to the bench.

There she sat, her eyes still searching his face--a wondering, eager look, discovering every moment some old remembered spot--an eyebrow, or the line at the corner of the mouth, or the round of the cheek--each and every one bringing back to her the days that were past and gone never to return.
"You are going away ?" she said at last--"why?
Aren't you happy with Uncle George?
He would miss you, I am sure." She had let the scarf fall from her shoulders as she spoke, bringing into view the full round of her exquisite throat.