It was powerfully backed by his liberality and good-humour.

She felt that she liked him--that she could continue to like him ever so much.

There was something even richer than that, running as a hidden strain, in her mind.

Every little while her eyes would meet his, and by that means the interchanging current of feeling would be fully connected.
"Why don't you stay down town and go to the theatre with me ?" he said, hitching his chair closer.

The table was not very wide.
"Oh, I can't," she said.
"What are you going to do to-night ?" "Nothing," she answered, a little drearily.
"You don't like out there where you are, do you ?" "Oh, I don't know." "What are you going to do if you don't get work ?" "Go back home, I guess." There was the least quaver in her voice as she said this.