uis had drunk to his
next undertaking, suggested by Jo Lewis, the visitors departed.

They had been walking in almost total silence for a number of blocks,
when Ruth turned suddenly to him and said with great earnestness,--

"Louis, what is the matter with you? For the last few days you have
hardly spoken to me. Have I done anything to annoy you?"

"You? Why, no, not that I remember."

"Then, please, before we go off, be friendly with me again."

"I am afraid I am not of a very hilarious temperament."

"Still, you manage to talk to others."

"Have you cared very much who talked to you lately?"

Her cheek changed color in the starlight.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Anything or nothing."

Ruth looked at him haughtily.

"If nothing," he continued, observing her askance from lowered lids,
"what I am about to say will be harmless. If anything, I still hope you
will find it pardonable."

"What are you about to say?"

"It won't take long. Will you be my wife?"

And the stars still shone up in heaven!

Her face turned white as a Niphetos rose.

"Louis," she said finally and speaking with difficulty, "why do you ask
me this?"

"Why does any man ask a woman to be his wife?"

"Generally because he loves her."

"Well?"

If he had spoken outright, she might have answered him; but the simple
monosyllable, implying a world of restrained avowal, confronted her like
a wall, before which she stood silent.

"Answer me, Ruth."

"If you mean it, Louis, I am very, very sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I can never be your wife."

"Why not?"

"I do not love you--like that."

Silence for half a block, the man's lips pressed hard together under
his mustache, the girl's heart beating suffocatingly. When he spoke, his
voice sounded oddly clear in the hushed night air.

"What do you mean by 'like that'?"

Her little hand was clinched tight as it lay on his arm. The perfect
silence that followed the words of each made every movement significant.

"You know,--as a woman loves the man she would marry, not as she loves a
brotherly cousin."

"The difference is not clear to me--but--how did you learn the
difference?"

"How dare you?" she cried, flashing a pair of dark, wet eyes upon him.

"In such a case, 'I dare do all that may become a man.' Besides, even
if there is a difference, I still ask you to be my wife. You would not
regret it, Ruth, I think."

His voice was not soft, but there was a certain straine