e went on. "But I am
obliged to because it is not fair to let you go on communing aloud with
yourself--and I cannot close my window in warm weather. It costs more
than you know for me to say this; for it is an admission that I heard
you say that you were coming to the wistaria arbor--"

She bent her crimsoned face; the silence of evening fell over the arbor.

"I don't know why I came," she said--"whether with a vague idea of
giving you the chance to speak, and so seizing the opportunity to warn
you that your soliloquies were audible to me--whether to tempt you to
speak and make it plain to you that I am not one of the thousand
shop-girls you have observed after the shops close--"

"Don't," he said, hoarsely. "I'm miserable enough."

"I don't wish you to feel miserable," she said. "I have a very exalted
idea of you. I--I understand artists."

"They're fools," he said. "Say anything you like before I go. I
had--hoped for--perhaps for your friendship. But a woman can't respect a
fool."

He rose in his humiliation.

"I can ask no privileges," he said, "but I must say one thing before I
go. You have a book there which bears the signature of an artist named
Marlitt. I am very anxious for his address; I think I have important
news for him--good news. That is why I ask it."

The girl looked at him quietly.

"What news have you for him?"

"I suppose you have a right to ask," he said, "or you would not ask. I
do not know Marlitt. I liked his work. Mr. Calvert suggested that
Marlitt should return to resume work--"

"No," said the girl, "_you_ suggested it."

He was staggered. "Did you even hear that!" he gasped.

"You were standing by your window," she said. "Mr. Tennant, I think that
was the real reason why I came to the wistaria arbor--to thank you for
what you have done. You see--you see, I am Marlitt."

He sank down on the seat opposite.

"Everything has gone wrong," she said. "I came to thank you--and
everything turned out so differently--and I was dreadfully rude to
you--"

She covered her face with her hands.

"Then _you_ wrote me that letter," he said, slowly. In the silence of
the gathering dusk the electric lamps snapped alight, flooding the arbor
with silvery radiance. He said:

"If a man had written me that letter I should have desired his
friendship and offered mine."

She dropped her hands and looked at him. "Thank you for speaking to
Calvert," she said, rising hastily; "I have been desperate