now that I had left it to its own
resources in regard to Breck, did not come offering this prize as just
reward. And then suddenly, borne upon the perfumed breeze that blew
through the open window, I felt the sharp keen, stab of a memory of a
Spring ago--fields, New England--fields and woods; brooks; hills; a
little apartment of seven rooms, bare, unfurnished; and somebody's
honest gray eyes looking into mine. It seemed as if the very embodiment
of that memory had passed near me. It must have been that some flowering
tree outside in the park, bearing its persuasive sweetness through the
open window, touched to life in my consciousness a memory imprinted
there by the perfume of some sister bloom in New England. I almost felt
the presence of him with whom I watched the trees bud and flower a
Spring ago. Even though some subtle instinct prompted Breck at this
stage to rise and put down the window, the message of the trees had
reached me. It made my reply to Breck gentle. When he came back to me I
stood up and put aside my needle-work.

"Well?" he questioned,

"I'm so sorry. I can't marry you, Breck. I can't."

"Why not? Why can't you? What's your game? What do you want of me?
Don't beat around. I'm serious. What do you mean 'you can't?'"

"I'm sorry, but I don't care enough for you, Breck. I wish I did, but I
just don't."

"Oh, you don't! That's it. Well, look here, don't let that worry you.
I'll make you care for me. I'll attend to that. Do you understand?" And
suddenly he put his arms about me. "I'll marry you and make you care,"
he murmured. I felt my hot cheek pressed against his rough coat, and
smelled again the old familiar smell of tobacco, mixed with the queer
eastern perfume which Breck's valet always put a little of on his
master's handkerchief. "You've got to marry me. You're helpless to do
anything else--as helpless as you are now to get away from me when I
want to hold you. I'm crazy about you, and I shall have you some day
too. If it's ceremony you want, it's yours. Oh, you're mine--_mine_,
little private secretary. Do you hear me? You're mine. Sooner or later
you're mine."

He let me go at last.

I went over to a mirror and fixed my hair.

"I wish you hadn't done that," I said, and rang for Perkins. He came
creaking in, in his squeaky boots.

"Perkins," I said, "will you call a taxi for me? I'm not staying with
Mrs. Sewall now that she has her son here. Please tell her that I am
going to Esther'