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 were turned down. And when she had quite finished, her eyes were like stars, and she looked up tremulously, and whispered:

"Why, we—like—just—the—same—things."

But the Youngish Man did not smile back at her. His face in that second turned suddenly old-looking and haggard and gray. He threw the books back into their places, and slammed the trunk-cover with a bang.

For just the infinitesimal fraction of a second the Man and the Girl looked into each other's eyes. For just that infinitesimal fraction of a second the Man's eyes were as unfathomable as the Girl's.

Then with a great sniff and scratching and whine, the White Bulldog pushed his way into the room, and the Girl jumped up in alarm to note that the sun was dropping very low in the west, and that the shadows of late afternoon crept palpably over her companion's face.

For a moment the two stood awkwardly with out a word, and then the Girl with a conscious effort at lightness queried:

"But where did the Runaway Road go to? I must find out."

The Youngish Man turned as though something had startled him.