t which bore reference to you--and there
have been many--came from the purest gratitude. Although you do not see
it now, will you promise to believe it?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"For the rest--" She paused. "For the rest--I do not love you."

He bowed his head and did not lift it.

"Do you understand?" she asked.

"I understand," he answered, quietly.

She looked at him long, and then, suddenly, her hand to her heart, gave
a little, pitying, tender cry and moved toward him. At this he raised
his head and smiled sadly. "No; don't you mind," he said. "It's all
right. I was such a cad the other time I needed to be told; I was
so entirely silly about it, I couldn't face the others to tell them
good-night, and I left you out there to go in to them alone. I didn't
realize, for my manners were all gone. I'd lived in a kind of stupor,
I think, for a long time; then being with you was like a dream, and the
sudden waking was too much for me. I've been ashamed often, since, in
thinking of it--and I was well punished for not taking you in. I thought
only of myself, and I behaved like a whining, unbalanced boy. But I had
whined from the moment I met you, because I was sickly with egoism and
loneliness and self-pity. I'm keeping you from the dancing. Won't you
let me take you back to the house?"

A commanding and querulous contralto voice was heard behind them, and a
dim, majestic figure appeared under the Japanese lantern.

"Helen?"

The girl turned quickly. "Yes, mamma."

"May I ask you to return to the club-house for supper with me? Your
father has been very much worried about you. We have all been looking
for you."

"Mamma, this is Mr. Harkless."

"How do you do?" The lady murmured this much so far under her breath
that the words might have been mistaken for anything else--most
plausibly, perhaps, for, "Who cares if it is?"--nor further did she
acknowledge John's profound inclination. Frigidity and complaint of
ill-usage made a glamour in every fold of her expensive garments; she
was large and troubled and severe. A second figure emerged from behind
her and bowed with the suave dignity that belonged to Brainard Macauley.
"Mr. Macauley has asked to sit at our table," Mrs. Sherwood said to
Helen. "May I beg you to come at once? Your father is holding places for
us."

"Certainly," she answered. "I will follow you with Mr. Harkless."

"I think Mr. Harkless will excuse you," said the elder lady. "He has
an engageme