There are night courses at the college, only I haven't many nights."
He had lighted his pipe, and kept his eyes on it mostly, or on the
fire. He was afraid to look at Lily, because there was something
he could not keep out of his eyes, but must keep from her. It had
been both better and worse than he had anticipated, seeing her in
her home. Lily herself had not changed. She was her wonderful self,
in spite of her frock and her surroundings. But the house, her
people, with their ease of wealth and position, Grace's slight
condescension, the elaborate simplicity of dining, the
matter-of-course-ness of the service. It was not that Lily was
above him. That was ridiculous. But she was far removed from him.
"There is something wrong with you, Willy," she said unexpectedly.
"You are not happy, or you are not well. Which is it? You are
awfully thin, for one thing."
"I'm all right," he said, evading her eyes.
"Are you lonely? I don't mean now, of course."
"Well, I've got a dog. That helps. He's a helpless sort of mutt.
I carry his meat home from the shop in my pocket, and I feel like
a butcher's wagon, sometimes. But he's taken a queer sort of
liking to me, and he is something to talk to.
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