. We have our roots so deep in the
happenings of years and years that we can't be moved--and get away
with it."

"We shall see," said Wilmot almost solemnly. "It isn't going to be easy
for me, either. But time will soon show. If after a year we find that we
cannot do without each other's friendship--why, then we must see each
other again. That's all there is to it."

"At least you'll write?"

He shook his head.

"But I will."

"No, Barbs. The sight of your writing would be too much fuel for the
fire."

She was silent for a quarter of a mile. She did not enjoy the idea of
being deliberately cut out of Wilmot Allen's life and heart "Suppose,"
she said, "that at the end of the year the fire is still
burning bright?"

He slowed the car down so that he could turn and look at her. His face
looked very strong and stern. "In that case," he said, "I will come back
and marry you,"

"And supposing that meanwhile, in a fit of loneliness and mistaken zeal,
I shall have married some one else?"

"If I feel about you as I do now," said Allen, "I will take you away
from him."

Once more the car began to run swiftly, so swiftly that Wilmot could not
take his eyes from the road to look at Barbara's face. If he had, he
would have seen in her eyes an extraordinary look of trouble and
tenderness.

XXI

During the week-end Barbara and Allen were much together, to the
amusement of the other guests, who said: "_It's_ on again." But it was
not really.

If Wilmot was going away, Barbara wished him to have good memories of
last times together to carry with him. And Wilmot, like a foolish fellow
who is going to swear off Monday, and in the meanwhile drinks to excess,
saw no reason why he should dress his wounds in the present, since, in
time to save his life, he was going to give them every attention
possible. That he was going to "get over" Barbara in a year he did not
believe. But observation and common-sense told him that life without her
must become easier and saner as time passed, and that to be forever
caught up or thrown down by her varying moods toward him had ceased to
be a self-respecting way of life. This is what common-sense and
experience told him; but his heart told him that he would love her
always, and that if he could not have her he must simply die.

Sunday night, after she had gone to bed, Barbara lay in the darkness and
asked herself questions. Wilmot's life had not been fine, but his love
had been