"He's down at the desk, champing and tramping and pawing holes in the floor." And he looked at her, to note the impression of this vivid, adroitly-reminiscent picture.
"Not yet," said Margaret curtly and coldly.

All of a sudden she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
"Rita--dear Rita!" exclaimed Grant, his own eyes wet, "I know just how you feel.

Am I not suffering, too?
I thought I didn't care, but I did--I do.

Rita, it isn't too late yet--" She straightened; dried her eyes.

"Stop that, Grant!" she said peremptorily.