find how precious she is, and then to lose her. Ah, well, time
helps even that! 'For the strong years conquer us.'"

But he sighed as he went back to his daughter, and he did not see the
beautiful Miss Reynolds when she bowed to him, although she was
smiling her sweetest and brightest smile.

Louise sat in her room. Its windows opened upon the piazza, and she
had witnessed the interview. She did not waver in her conviction that
she had done right. She could not wisely marry a man whom she did not
respect, let his charm of manner and temper be what it might. She
needed a man who was manly, who could rule other men; besides, how
could she make up her mind to walk through life with a husband hardly
above her shoulder? Still, she conceded to herself that, had Talboys
compelled one thrill of admiration from her by any mental or moral
height, she would not have caviled at his short stature. But there was
something ridiculous in the idea of Talboys thrilling anybody. For one
thing, he took everything too lightly. Suddenly, with the sharpness of
a new sensation, she remembered that he had not seemed to take the
morning's episode lightly. Poor Martin!--for the first time, even in
her reveries, she called him by his Christian name,--there was an
uncomfortable deal of feeling in his few words. Yet he was
considerate; he made it as easy as possible for her.

Martin was always considerate; he never jarred on her; possibly, the
master mind might jar, being so masterful. He was always kind, too;
continually scattering pleasures about in his quiet fashion. Such a
quiet fashion it was that few people noticed how persistent was the
kindness. Now a hundred instances rushed to her mind. All at once,
recalling something, she blushed hotly. That morning, just as Talboys
and she were turning from the place where he had asked and she had
answered, she caught a glimpse of Demming's head through the leaves.
He had turned, also, and he made a feint of passing them, as though he
were but that instant walking by. The action had a touch of delicacy
in it; a Northerner of Demming's class would not have shown it. Louise
felt grateful to the vagabond; at the same time, it was hardly
pleasant to know that he was as wise as she in Talboys's heart
affairs. As for Talboys himself, he had not so much as seen Demming;
he had been too much occupied with his own bitter thoughts. Again
Louise murmured, "Poor Martin!" What was the need, though, that her
own h