"
Nance hesitated, then straightening the prim little gray bonnet that
would assume a jaunty tilt, she followed the tall figure and the short
one into the halo of light that circled the open door.
The evening that followed was one of those rare times, insignificant in
itself, every detail of which was to stand out in after life, charged
with significance. For Nance, the warmth and glow of the homely little
house, with its flowered carpets and gay curtains, the beaming face of
old Mrs. Purdy in its frame of silver curls, the laughter of the happy
child, and above all the strong, tender presence of Dan, were things
never to be forgotten.
At eight o'clock she rose reluctantly, saying that she had to go by the
Snawdors' before she reported at the hospital at nine o'clock.
"Do you mind if I go that far with you?" asked Dan, wistfully.
On their long walk across the city they said little. Their way led them
past many familiar places, the school house, the old armory, Cemetery
Street, Post-Office Square, where they used to sit and watch the
electric signs. Of the objects they passed, Dan was superbly unaware. He
saw only Nance. But she was keenly aware of every old association that
bound them together. Everything seemed strangely beautiful to her, the
glamorous shop-lights cutting through the violet gloom, the subtle
messages of lighted windows, the passing faces of her fellow-men. In
that gray world her soul burned like a brilliant flame lighting up
everything around her.
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