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"
Isabelle
,
I
'm
going
back
to
college
for
six
long
months
,
and
why
should
n't
we
--
if
I
could
only
just
have
one
thing
to
remember
you
by
--
"
"
Close
the
door
...
"
Her
voice
had
just
stirred
so
that
he
half
wondered
whether
she
had
spoken
at
all
.
As
he
swung
the
door
softly
shut
,
the
music
seemed
quivering
just
outside
.
"
Moonlight
is
bright
,
Kiss
me
good
night
.
"
What
a
wonderful
song
,
she
thought
--
everything
was
wonderful
to-night
,
most
of
all
this
romantic
scene
in
the
den
,
with
their
hands
clinging
and
the
inevitable
looming
charmingly
close
.
The
future
vista
of
her
life
seemed
an
unending
succession
of
scenes
like
this
:
under
moonlight
and
pale
starlight
,
and
in
the
backs
of
warm
limousines
and
in
low
,
cosy
roadsters
stopped
under
sheltering
trees
--
only
the
boy
might
change
,
and
this
one
was
so
nice
.
He
took
her
hand
softly
.
With
a
sudden
movement
he
turned
it
and
,
holding
it
to
his
lips
,
kissed
the
palm
.
"
Isabelle
!
"
His
whisper
blended
in
the
music
,
and
they
seemed
to
float
nearer
together
.
Her
breath
came
faster
.
"
Ca
n't
I
kiss
you
,
Isabelle
--
Isabelle
?
"
Lips
half
parted
,
she
turned
her
head
to
him
in
the
dark
.
Suddenly
the
ring
of
voices
,
the
sound
of
running
footsteps
surged
toward
them
.
Quick
as
a
flash
Amory
reached
up
and
turned
on
the
light
,
and
when
the
door
opened
and
three
boys
,
the
wrathy
and
dance-craving
Froggy
among
them
,
rushed
in
,
he
was
turning
over
the
magazines
on
the
table
,
while
she
sat
without
moving
,
serene
and
unembarrassed
,
and
even
greeted
them
with
a
welcoming
smile
.
But
her
heart
was
beating
wildly
,
and
she
felt
somehow
as
if
she
had
been
deprived
.
It
was
evidently
over
.
There
was
a
clamor
for
a
dance
,
there
was
a
glance
that
passed
between
them
--
on
his
side
despair
,
on
hers
regret
,
and
then
the
evening
went
on
,
with
the
reassured
beaux
and
the
eternal
cutting
in
.
At
quarter
to
twelve
Amory
shook
hands
with
her
gravely
,
in
the
midst
of
a
small
crowd
assembled
to
wish
him
good-speed
.
For
an
instant
he
lost
his
poise
,
and
she
felt
a
bit
rattled
when
a
satirical
voice
from
a
concealed
wit
cried
:
"
Take
her
outside
,
Amory
!
"
As
he
took
her
hand
he
pressed
it
a
little
,
and
she
returned
the
pressure
as
she
had
done
to
twenty
hands
that
evening
--
that
was
all
.
At
two
o'clock
back
at
the
Weatherbys
'
Sally
asked
her
if
she
and
Amory
had
had
a
"
time
"
in
the
den
.
Isabelle
turned
to
her
quietly
.
In
her
eyes
was
the
light
of
the
idealist
,
the
inviolate
dreamer
of
Joan-like
dreams
.
