st; but I can't explain it without making
Barbara appear perfectly--Mr. Langbourne, _will_ you tell whether you
are engaged?"

"No! Miss Simpson has declined my offer," he answered.

"Oh, then it's all right," said Juliet Bingham, but Langbourne looked as
if he did not see why she should say that. "Then I can understand; I see
the whole thing now; and I didn't want to make _another_ mistake.
Ah--won't you--sit down?"

"Thank you. I believe I will go."

"But you have a right to know--"

"Would my knowing alter the main facts?" he asked dryly.

"Well, no, I can't say it would," Juliet Bingham replied with an air of
candor. "And, as you _say_, perhaps it's just as well," she added with
an air of relief.

Langbourne had not said it, but he acquiesced with a faint sigh, and
absently took the hand of farewell which Juliet Bingham gave him. "I
know Barbara will be very sorry not to see you; but I guess it's
better."

In spite of the supremacy which the turn of affairs had given her,
Juliet Bingham looked far from satisfied, and she let Langbourne go with
a sense of inconclusiveness which showed in the parting inclination
towards him; she kept the effect of this after he turned from her.

He crept light-headedly down the brick walk with a feeling that the
darkness was not half thick enough, though it was so thick that it hid
from him a figure that leaned upon the gate and held it shut, as if
forcibly to interrupt his going.

"Mr. Langbourne," said the voice of this figure, which, though so
unnaturally strained, he knew for Barbara's voice, "you have got to
_know_! I'm ashamed to tell you, but I should be more ashamed not to,
after what's happened. Juliet made me promise when she went out to the
book-club meeting that if I--if you--if it turned out as _you_ wanted, I
would sing that song as a sign--It was just a joke--like my sending her
picture. It was my mistake and I am sorry, and I beg your pardon--I--"

She stopped with a quick catch in her breath, and the darkness round
them seemed to become luminous with the light of hope that broke upon
him within.

"But if there really was no mistake," he began. He could not get
further.

She did not answer, and for the first time her silence was sweeter than
her voice. He lifted her tip-toe in his embrace, but he did not wish her
taller; her yielding spirit lost itself in his own, and he did not
regret the absence of the strong will which he had once imagined hers.