f Harmony's eyes was supplemented by the rout of Harmony's
hair. Peter, goaded, got up and walked about. Harmony was half
exasperated; she would have boxed Peter's ears with a tender hand had
she dared.

His hands thrust savagely in his pockets, Peter turned and faced her at
last.

"First of all," he said, "I am going back to America, Harmony. I've
got all I can get here, all I came for--" He stopped, seeing her face.
"Well, of course, that's not true, I haven't. But I'm going back,
anyhow. You needn't look so stricken: I haven't lost my chance. I'll
come back sometime again and finish, when I've earned enough to do it."

"You will never come back, Peter. You have spent all your money on
others, and now you are going back just where you were, and--you are
leaving me here alone!"

"You are alone, anyhow," said Peter, "making your own way and getting
along. And McLean will be here."

"Are you turning me over to him?"

No reply. Peter was pacing the floor.

"Peter!"

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you remember the night in Anna's room at the Schwartz when you
proposed to me?"

No reply. Peter found another pin.

"And that night in the old lodge when you proposed to me again?"

Peter turned and looked at her, at her slender, swaying young figure,
her luminous eyes, her parted, childish lips.

"Peter, I want you to--to ask me again."

"No!"

"Why?"

"Now, listen to me, Harmony. You're sorry for me, that's all; I don't
want to be pitied. You stay here and work. You'll do big things. I had a
talk with the master while I was searching for you, and he says you
can do anything. But he looked at me--and a sight I was with worry and
fright--and he warned me off, Harmony. He says you must not marry."

"Old pig!" said Harmony. "I will marry if I please."

Nevertheless Peter's refusal and the master's speech had told somewhat.
She was colder, less vibrant. Peter came to her, stood close, looking
down at her.

"I've said a lot I didn't mean to," he said. "There's only one thing I
haven't said, I oughtn't to say it, dear. I'm not going to marry you--I
won't have such a thing on my conscience. But it doesn't hurt a woman
to know that a man loves her. I love you, dear. You're my heaven and my
earth--even my God, I'm afraid. But I will not marry you."

"Not even if I ask you to?"

"Not even then, dear. To share my struggle--"

"I see," slowly. "It is to be a struggle?"

"A hard fight, Harmony. I'm a pauper practically."