Page:Our Little Girl (1923).pdf/51

 rose in pitch. He could distinguish “it’s getting late,” “your father can’t sleep,” and “been here long enough.” Presently Dorothy returned.

“Tm going,” announced Tommy.

“Oh, you needn’t,” said Dorothy sweetly, but in a tone that carried no conviction and much relief.

“Getting late.”

She found his hat.

“It’s been most pleasant,” remarked Tommy. “Don’t give up your singing. Go right on. You'll make good.”

“Do you really think so?”

“TI really do. Just stick to it. Most of the girls nowadays begin something—and then they skip off and marry some well-fixed young man—and that’s the end of it.”

“I’m not thinking of anything like that.”

“That speech is usually the sign of a secret engagement——”

Dorothy shook her head.

“Nothing could be further from my thoughts.”

“That’s good,” said Tommy. “For your career, of course.”

He meant to make his exit on this line. But he stopped.

“T’d like to see you again—soon,” he said.

He might be useful, although he wasn’t exactly attractive.

“Ring me up.”

It was a tantalizing command. Dorothy thought it combined remoteness with an elusive cordiality.

He smiled. It wasn’t as good a smile as Arnold’s.

“Thank you.”

“Good night, Mr. Borge.”

“Er—they call me Tommy.”

"May I?"