"No," said Jerome. Then he said, again, as if he found strength in
the repetition. "I did not think it best."

"I thought you were coming that night," Lucina said, with scarcely
the faintest touch of reproach but with more of wonder. Why should he
not have thought it best?

"I am sorry," said Jerome. "I wanted to tell you, but I had no reason
but that to give, and I--thought you might not understand."

Lucina made no reply. The path narrowed just there and gave her an
excuse for quitting Jerome's arm. She did so with a gentle murmur of
explanation, for she could do nothing abruptly, then went on before
him swiftly. Her white shawl hung from her head to her waist in sharp
slants. She moved through the dusk with the evanescent flit of a
white moth.

"Of course," stammered Jerome, painfully and boyishly, "I--knew--you
would not care if--I did not come. It was not as if--I had thought
you--would."

Lucina said nothing to that either. Jerome thought miserably that she
did not hear, or, hearing, agreed with what he said.

Soon, however, Lucina spoke, without turning her head. "I can
understand," said she, with the gentlest and yet the most complete
dignity, for she spoke from her goodness of heart, "that a person has
often to do what he thinks best, and not explain it to any other
person, because it is between him and his own conscience. I am quite
sure that you had some very good reason for not coming to see me that
Sunday night, and you need not tell me what it was. I am very glad
that you did not, as I feared, stay away because I had not treated
you with courtesy. Now, we will say no more about it." With that,
the path being a little wider, she came to his side again, and looked
up in his face with the most innocent friendliness and forgiveness in
hers.

Jerome could have gone down at her feet and worshipped her.

"What a beautiful night it is!" said Lucina, tilting her face up
towards the stars.

"Beautiful!" said Jerome, looking at her, breathlessly.

"I never saw the stars so thick," said she, musingly. "Everybody has
his own star, you know. I wonder which my star is, and yours. Did you
ever think of it?"

"I guess my star isn't there," said Jerome.

"Why, yes," cried Lucina, earnestly, "it must be!"

"No, it isn't there," repeated Jerome, with a soft emphasis on the
last word.

Lucina looked up at him, then her eyes fell before his. She laughed
confusedly. "Did you know what I came to your house