"It's rather dark; won't you take my arm?" he said. "What nonsense! Why, I could see to read!" "But I'm sure you're tired." "How absurd you are! Was it a great bore?" "What?" "Why, coming." "No," said Harry. In such affairs monosyllables are danger signals. A long protestation might have meant nothing: in this short, sufficient negative Mrs. Mortimer recognized the boy's sincerity. A little thrill of pride and shame, and perhaps something else, ran through her. The night was hot and she unfastened the clasp of her cloak, breathing a trifle quickly. To relieve the silence, she said, with a laugh: "You see we poor married women have to depend on charity. Our husbands don't care to walk home with us. Your father was bent on your coming." Harry laughed a short laugh; the utter darkness of Mr. Sterling's condition struck through his agitation down to his sense of humor. Mrs. Mortimer smiled at him; she could not help it: the secret between them was so pleasant to her, even while she hated herself for its existence.