need and want?"

"They wouldn't see it, and I'm shamefully afraid of them," she said
simply, and then she added indignantly, "How could you dare, to-day? I
can't trust you for any perception, can I?"

Not perceiving that her scruple was belated, Crocker blurted out
ruefully. "I'm an ass, and I'm sorry and I'm not. It's what I have wanted
to say these many days, and perhaps it might as well be so. But I've
wounded you and for that I'm more than sorry."

"Let's not talk about it," Emma said gently. "Of course I'll forgive an
old friend for saying a little more than he should. Only you must stop
here. You'll forgive me, too, for owning your St. Michael. I'm honestly
sorry it happened so. I would dismiss him if I could, for he is likely to
cost me a good friend. But he creates a kind of impossibility between us,
doesn't he, and for a while it's best you shouldn't come, not till things
change with you. It's kindest so, isn't it, Crocker?"

There was more debate to this effect before the impassive St. Michael,
until at last Crocker agreed impatiently, "You're right, Emma, or at
least you have me at a disadvantage, which comes to the same thing.
And yet it's all wrong. You are putting a painted saint between yourself
and a friend who wants to be more. It's logical, but it isn't human. As
for their talk, they'll talk, anyhow, and we might as well stand it
together. I'm probably off for a long time, Emma. I hope you'll find your
St. Michael companionable. When you decide to throw him out of the
window, let me know. Forgive me again. Good-by." She gave him her hand
silently and followed him out into the _loggia_. As she watched him
striding angrily down the valley and away, she had the air of a woman who
would have cried if she were not Emma Verplanck.

* * * * *

Crocker was right, we all did talk. And naturally, for had we not all
been eagerly awaiting the collision announced by the cessation of his
visits and the rumour that he was bound north. In council on Dennis's
terrace, however, we came to no unanimous reading of the affair.
Generally, we felt that even if Emma wanted a way out, which we guessed
to be the fact, she would never expose herself to our batteries, and with
regret we opined that there was no way, had we wished, to divest
ourselves of our collective formidableness. On all sides we divined a
deadlock, with Dennis the only dissenting voice. He insisted scornfully
that we none