Seth went to the house of Banker White and stood in the darkness by the front door.
It was Helen White who came to the door and found Seth standing at the edge of the porch.
Seth and Helen walked through the streets be- neath the trees.
Since Seth had been a boy in knee trousers there had been a half expressed intimacy between him and the maiden who now for the first time walked beside him.
Seth had not answered them, although he had been moved and flattered by some of the sen- tences scrawled in pencil upon the stationery of the banker's wife.
Helen and Seth stopped by a fence near where a low dark building faced the street.
"Ne'er heed me, Seth," said Wiry Ben, "y' are a down-right good- hearted chap, panels or no panels; an' ye donna set up your bristles at every bit o' fun, like some o' your kin, as is mayhap cliverer."
"Seth, lad," said Adam, taking no notice of the sarcasm against himself, "thee mustna take me unkind.
"Nay, nay, Addy, thee mean'st me no unkindness," said Seth, "I know that well enough.
Before the first stroke had died away, Sandy Jim had loosed his plane and was reaching his jacket; Wiry Ben had left a screw half driven in, and thrown his screwdriver into his tool-basket; Mum Taft, who, true to his name, had kept silence throughout the previous conversation, had flung down his hammer as he was in the act of lifting it; and Seth, too, had straightened his back, and was putting out his hand towards his paper cap.
Seth looked a little conscious, and began to be slower in his preparations for going, but Mum Taft broke silence, and said, "Aye, aye, Adam lad, ye talk like a young un.
Seth lingered, and looked wistfully at Adam, as if he expected him to say something.