At times when they listened intently, especially when they closed their eyes, there came to them a subdued, steady bourdon, profound, unceasing, a vast, numb murmur, like no other sound in all the gamut of nature--the sound of a city at night, the hum of a great, conglomerate life, wrought out there from moment to moment under the stars and under the moon, while the last hours of the old year dropped quietly away.
A star fell.
Sitting in the window, the two noticed it at once, and Condy stirred for the first time in fifteen minutes.
"That was a very long one," he said, in a low voice.

"Blix, you must write to me--we must write each other often." "Oh, yes," she answered.

"We must not forget each other; we have had too good a time for that." "Four years is a long time," he went on.

"Lots can happen in four years.

Wonder what I'll be doing at the end of four years?
We've had a pleasant time while it lasted, Blix." "Haven't we ?" she said, her chin on her hand, the moonlight shining in her little, dark-brown eyes.
Well, he was going to lose her.