forest
and a lake shore, nor by the things you set store by. And I'll be a
discontented pendulum until I do.

"Why," she burst out passionately, "I'd be the biggest little fool on
earth to marry you just because--just because I like you, because you
kissed me and for a minute made me feel that life could be bounded by
you and kisses. You're only the second possible man I've ever seen. You
and Tommy Ashe. And before you came I could easily have persuaded myself
that I loved Tommy."

"Now you think perhaps you love me, but that you might perhaps care in
the same way for the next attractive man who comes along? Is that it?"
Thompson asked with a touch of bitterness.

"I might _think_ so--how can one tell?" she sighed. "But I'm very sure
my impulses will never plunge me into anything headlong, as you would
have me plunge. Don't you see," she made an impatient gesture, "we're
just like a couple of fledgling birds trying our wings. And you want to
proceed on the assumption that we're equal to anything, sure of
everything. I _know_ I'm not. You--"

She made again that quick, expressive gesture with her hands. Something
about it made Thompson suddenly feel hopeless and forlorn, the airy
castles reared overnight out of the stuff of dreams a tumbled heap
about him. He sat down on one of the rude chairs, and turned his face to
look out the window, a lump slowly gathering in his throat.

"All right," he said. "Good-by."

If his tone was harsh and curt he could not help that. It was all he
could say and the only possible fashion of saying it. He wanted to cry
aloud his pain, the yearning ache that filled him, and he could not,
would not--no more than he would have whined under pure physical hurt.
But when he heard the faint rustle of her cotton dress and her step
outside he put his face on his hands and took his breath with a
shuddering sigh.

At that, he was mistaken. Sophie had not gone. There was the quick,
light pad of her feet on the floor, her soft warm hands closed suddenly
about his neck, and he looked up into eyes bright and wet. Her face
dropped to a level with his own.

"I'm so sorry, big man," she whispered, in a small, choked voice. "It
hurts me too."

He felt the warm moist touch of her lips on his cheek, the faint
exhalation of her breath, and while his arms reached swiftly,
instinctively to grasp and hold her close, she was gone. And this time
she did not come back.

CHAPTER XI

A MAN'S JOB FOR