was only half-broken prairie,
the homestead almost unhabitable."

Agatha winced at this. It was, no doubt, true, but it seemed horribly
petty and commonplace. His comprehension stopped at such details as
these, and he had given her no credit for the courage which would have
made light of bodily discomfort.

"Do you think--that--would have mattered? We were both very young
then, and we could have faced our troubles and grown up together. Now
we're not the same. You let me grow up alone."

[Illustration: "'Do you think--that--would have mattered?'"]

Hawtrey spread his hands out. "I haven't changed."

He contented himself with that, and Agatha grew more resolute. There
was no spark of imagination in him, scarcely even a spark of the
passion which, if it had been strong enough, might have swept her away
in spite of her shrinking. He was a man of comely presence, whimsical,
and quick, as she remembered, at light badinage, but when there was a
crisis to be grappled with he somehow failed. His graces were on the
surface. There was no depth in him.

"Aggy," he added humbly, when he should have been dominantly forceful,
"it is only a question of a little time. You will get used to me."

"Then," and the girl clutched at the chance of respite, "give me six
months from to-day. It isn't very much to ask, Gregory."

The man wrinkled his brows. "It's a great deal," he answered slowly.
"I seem to feel that we shall drift further and further apart if once I
let you go."

"Then you feel that we have drifted a little already?"

"I don't know what has come over you, Aggy, but there has been a
change. I'm what I was, and I want to keep you."

Agatha rose and turned towards him rather white in face. "Then if you
are wise you will not urge me now."

Hawtrey met her gaze for a moment, and then made a sign of acquiescence
as he turned his eyes away. He recognised that this was a new Agatha,
one whose will was stronger than his. Yet he was half-astonished that
he had yielded so readily.

"Well," he said, "if it must be, I can only give way to you, but I must
be free to come over here whenever I wish." Then a thought seemed to
strike him. "But you may have to go away," he added, with sudden
concern. "If I am to wait six months, what are you to do in the
meanwhile?"

The girl smiled wearily. Now the respite had been granted her, the
question he had raised was not one that caused her any great concern.

"Oh