eyes.

He heard himself saying, as in a dream:

"Is there a telegram for me?"

And, as her delicate lifted brows questioned him:

"I am John Marque," he said.

She picked up the telegram which lay on her table and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said. After he had gone she realised that she had not
spoken.

[Illustration]

XII

WHENEVER he went to Moss Centre with the wagon he telephoned and
telegraphed to himself, and about a month after he had begun this idiot
performance he ventured to speak to her.

It occurred late in July, just before sunset. He had placed his rod,
lighted his pipe, and seated himself on the platform's edge, when, all of
a sudden, and without any apparent reason, a dizzy sort of recklessness
seized him, and he got up and walked over to her window.

"Good evening," he said.

She looked around leisurely.

"Good evening," she said in a low voice.

"I was wondering," he went on, scared almost to death, "whether you would
mind if I spoke to you?"

After a few seconds she said:

"Well? Have you decided?"

Badly frightened, he managed to find voice enough to express his
continued uncertainty.

"Why did you care to speak to me?" she asked.

"I--we--you----" and he stuck fast.

"Had you anything to say to me?" she asked in a lower--and he thought a
gentler--voice.

"I've a lot to say to you," he said, finding his voice again.

"Really? What about?"

He looked at her so appealingly, so miserably, that the faintest possible
smile touched her lips.

"Can I do anything for you, Mr. Marque?"

"If--if you'd only let me speak to you----"

"But I am letting you."

"I mean--to-morrow, too----"

"To-morrow? To-morrow is a very, very long way off. It is somewhere
beyond those eastern hills--but a very, very long way off!--as far as
the East is from the West. No; I know nothing about to-morrow, so how can
I promise anything to anybody?"

"Will your promise cover to-day?"

"Yes. . . . The sun has nearly set, Mr. Marque."

"Then perhaps when to-morrow is to-day you will be able to promise----"

"Perhaps. Have you caught any fish?"

After a moment he said: "How did you know I was fishing? You didn't turn
to look."

She said coolly: "How did you know I didn't?"

"You never do."

She said nothing.

At her window, elbows on the sill, the blossoms in her window-box
brushing his sunburnt face, he stood, legs crossed, pipe in hand, the
sunset wind stirring the cu