n true of me yesterday; it isn't true, now."

"Have you changed so much since yesterday?" she asked, as if she expected
me to confess, now, quite in the familiar manner. She had given me an
opportunity for the proper continuation. I refused it.

"I have only one claim on you," I said boldly.

"Well?" she replied impatiently.

"You recognised me last night."

It was very like her not to fence over that. She had a dozen possible
equivocations, but she suddenly met me with no attempt at disguise.

"I _thought_ I did," she said. "Just for a minute."

"And now? You know...?"

She leaned her elbows on the gate and stared out over the moonlit
mysteries of the Park.

"You're not a bit what I expected," she said.

I misunderstood her. "But you can't..." I began.

"To look at," she interrupted me.

I felt a thrill of hope. "But neither are you," I said.

"Oh!" she commented softly.

"I've had romantic visions, too," I went on; "of what she would look like
when I did meet her. But when I saw you, I remembered, and all the
visions--oh! scattered; vanished into thin air."

"If you hadn't been so successful..." she murmured.

"I'm sorry for that," I agreed. "But I'm going to make amends. I realised
it all this afternoon in the wood when I went to meet Arthur. I'm going to
begin all over again, now. I'm coming to Canada--to work." The whole
solution of my problem was suddenly clear, although I had not guessed it
until that moment. "I'm going to buy a farm for all of us," I went on
quickly, "and all the money that's over, I shall give away. The hospitals
are always willing to accept money without asking why you give it. They're
not suspicious, _they_ don't consider themselves under any obligation."

"How much should you have to give away?" she asked.

"Thirty or forty thousand pounds," I said. "It depends on how much the
farm costs."

"Hadn't you better keep a little, in case the farm fails?" she put in.

"It won't fail," I said. "How could it?"

"And you'd do all that just because you've--remembered me?"

"There was another influence," I admitted.

"What was that?" she asked, with the sound of new interest in her voice.

"All this affair with the Jervaises," I said. "It has made me hate the
possession of money and the power money gives. That farm of ours is going
to be a communal farm. Our workers shall have an interest in the profits.
No one is to be the proprietor. We'll all be one family--no scraping for