very fine, and for longer than she could remember. Would it not
be well to trust herself to such a love as that? Had she the right to
send it away begging? Would it not be better, since marriage is a
lottery, to grasp some things that in this case would be sure, instead
of leaving everything to chance? If he kept away from her long enough,
his love would probably die, or at least reduce itself to a state of
occasional melancholy agitation. But if she belonged to him it would
never die. Of this their whole past seemed a sure proof. If she married
him he would always love her and be faithful to her; for her part she
was wonderfully fond of him, and she believed that if she once actually
committed herself to his care, she would be a good wife to him, and a
loving. Then why not? She tried the effect of pretending that she had
promised to marry him and meant to keep her word, and she found that the
position, if only mentally, was strategically strong and secure. She
would make him happy; she herself would cease from troubling him and
other men. For her sake he would turn over new leaves and be everything
that was fine. She would be obedient and have no more difficult knots to
untangle for herself. Wilmot would simply cut them for her with a sure
word, one way or the other.

She had not for a long time enjoyed so peaceful a night. Hours passed,
and she found that, without sleeping, she was becoming wonderfully
rested. For it is true that nothing so rests the thinker as
unselfish thinking.

She had breakfast in her room, but was down in time to catch the
business men's train for town, or to be driven in Wilmot's borrowed
runabout, if he should ask her. He did, and amid shouts of farewell and
invitations to come again soon, they drove away together into the cool
bright morning.

"Wilmot," Barbara said, when they had passed the last outpost of the
Bruces' shrubbery and whirled into the turnpike, "I spent most of last
night thinking."

"You look fresh as a rosebud."

She shook her head as if to shake off the dew, and said: "I feel more
rested than if I had slept soundly. If you will marry me, Wilmot, I will
make you a good wife."

Wilmot's heart leaped into his throat with joy, and then dropped as if
into a deep abyss of doubt. For all her confessions to him, and for all
her promises of amendment, here was his darling Barbs unable to resist
the temptation of hurting him again. "One of her impulses," he thought,
and at onc