nicious, make-believe volumes had fallen on the bench between
us, for I could not read any more; I could not think; I touched her hand,
and when she drew it gently away I glanced at her. Reason made a valiant
but hopeless effort to assert itself. Was I sure that I wanted her--for
life? No use! I wanted her now, no matter what price that future might
demand. An awkward silence fell between us--awkward to me, at least--and
I, her guide and mentor, became banal, apologetic, confused. I made some
idiotic remark about being together in the Garden of Eden.

"I remember Mr. Doddridge saying in Bible class that it was supposed to
be on the Euphrates," she replied. "But it's been destroyed by the
flood."

"Let's make another--one of our own," I suggested.

"Why, how silly you are this afternoon."

"What's to prevent us--Maude?" I demanded, with a dry throat.

"Nonsense!" she laughed. In proportion as I lost poise she seemed to gain
it.

"It's not nonsense," I faltered. "If we were married."

At last the fateful words were pronounced--irrevocably. And, instead of
qualms, I felt nothing but relief, joy that I had been swept along by the
flood of feeling. She did not look at me, but gazed straight ahead of
her.

"If I love you, Maude?" I stammered, after a moment.

"But I don't love you," she replied, steadily.

Never in my life had I been so utterly taken aback.

"Do you mean," I managed to say, "that after all these months you don't
like me a little?"

"'Liking' isn't loving." She looked me full in the face. "I like you very
much."

"But--" there I stopped, paralyzed by what appeared to me the
quintessence of feminine inconsistency and caprice. Yet, as I stared at
her, she certainly did not appear capricious. It is not too much to say
that I was fairly astounded at this evidence of self-command and
decision, of the strength of mind to refuse me. Was it possible that she
had felt nothing and I all? I got to my feet.

"I hate to hurt your feelings," I heard her say. "I'm very sorry."... She
looked up at me. Afterwards, when reflecting on the scene, I seemed to
remember that there were tears in her eyes. I was not in a condition to
appreciate her splendid sincerity. I was overwhelmed and inarticulate. I
left her there, on the bench, and went back to George's, announcing my
intention of taking the five o'clock train....

Maude Hutchins had become, at a stroke, the most desirable of women. I
have often wondered how