l his resolves and
brave determinations were melting into mist like that about him; that
he must talk and talk at once and upon a subject which was not personal,
which--

And then Helen spoke.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" she said. "All this talk of ours?
It reminds me of how we used to talk over those first poems of yours.
You have gone a long way since then."

"I have gone to Kaiserville and back."

"You know what I mean. I mean your work has improved wonderfully. You
write with a sure hand now, it seems to me. And your view is so much
broader."

"I hope I'm not the narrow, conceited little rooster I used to be. I
told you, Helen, that the war handed me an awful jolt. Well, it did. I
think it, or my sickness or the whole business together, knocked most of
that self-confidence of mine galley-west. For so much I'm thankful."

"I don't know that I am, altogether. I don't want you to lose confidence
in yourself. You should be confident now because you deserve to be. And
you write with confidence, or it reads as if you did. Don't you feel
that you do, yourself? Truly, don't you?"

"Well, perhaps, a little. I have been at it for some time now. I ought
to show some progress. Perhaps I don't make as many mistakes."

"I can't see that you have made any."

"I have made one . . . a damnable one."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. I didn't mean to say that. . . . Helen, do you know it is
awfully good of you to take all this interest in me--in my work, I mean.
Why do you do it?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why?"

"Why, because--Why shouldn't I? Haven't we always talked about your
writings together, almost since we first knew each other? Aren't we old
friends?"

There it was again--friends. It was like a splash of cold water in the
face, at once awakening and chilling. Albert walked on in silence for
a few moments and then began speaking of some trivial subject entirely
disconnected with himself or his work or her. When they reached the
parsonage door he said good night at once and strode off toward home.

Back in his room, however, he gave himself another mental picking to
pieces. He was realizing most distinctly that this sort of thing would
not do. It was easy to say that his attitude toward Helen Kendall was
to be that of a friend and nothing more, but it was growing harder and
harder to maintain that attitude. He had come within a breath that very
night of saying what was in his heart.

Well, if he