't say you can not know
yourself better if you have a thousand years in which to consider
it--for though you think that it is true it is not"

"And if I rack my brains and my heart," interrupted Mr. Du Brant, "and
find out that I can never change nor feel in any other way toward you
than I feel now, may I then----"

"Now, don't say anything about that," said Olive. "What I want to do now
is to treat you honorably and fairly, and to give you a chance to
withdraw if, after sober consideration, you think it best to do so. I
believe that every young man who thinks himself compelled to propose
marriage in such hot haste ought to have a chance to reflect quietly
and coolly, and to withdraw if he wants to. And that is all, Mr. Du
Brant. I must be off this minute, for Mrs. Easterfield is over there
waiting for me."

Mr. Du Brant walked thoughtfully away. "I do not understand," he said to
himself in French, "why she did not tell me I need not speak to her
again about it. The situation is worthy of diplomatic consideration, and
I will give it that."

From a distance Claude Locker beheld his Austrian enemy walking alone,
and without a book.

"Something has happened," he thought, "and the fellow has changed his
tactics. Before, under cover of a French novel, he was a snake in the
grass, now he is a snake hopping along on the tip of his tail. Perhaps
he thinks this is a better way to keep a lookout upon her. I believe he
is more dangerous than he was before, for I don't know whether a snake
on tip tail jumps or falls down upon his victims."

One thing Mr. Locker was firmly determined upon. He was going to try to
see Olive as soon as it was possible before luncheon, and impress upon
her the ardent nature of his feelings toward her; he did not believe he
had done this yet. He looked about him. The party, excepting himself and
Mr. Du Brant, were on the front lawn; he would join them and satirize
the gloomy Austrian. If Olive could be made to laugh at him it would be
like preparing a garden-bed with spade and rake before sowing his seeds.

The rural mail-carrier came earlier than usual that day, and he brought
Olive but one letter, but as it was from her father, she was entirely
satisfied, and retired to a bench to read it.

In about ten minutes after that she walked into Mrs. Easterfield's
little room, the open letter in her hand. As Mrs. Easterfield looked up
from her writing-table the girl seemed transformed; she was taller,