r parents
to spend the day with the Adamses down by the river on their farm. But
not until the Nesbits piled into their phaeton to leave did Grant
appear. He met the visitors at the gate with a great bouquet of woods
flowers, saying, "Here, Mrs. Nesbit--I thought you might like them." But
they found Laura's hands, and he smiled gratefully at her for taking
them. As they drove off, leaving him looking eagerly after them, Dr.
Nesbit said when they were out of hearing, "I tell you, girls--there's
the makings of a man--a real man!"

That night Laura Nesbit in her room looking at the stars, rose and
smelled the woods flowers on her table beside some fading roses.

As her day dreams merged into vague pictures flitting through her drowsy
brain, she heard the plaintive, trembling voice of Morty Sands's
mandolin, coming nearer and nearer, and his lower whistle taking the
tune while the E string crooned an obligato; he passed the house, went
down the street to the Mortons' and came back and went home again, still
trilling his heart out like a bird. As the chirping faded into the night
sounds, the girl smiled compassionately and slept.

As she slept young Thomas Van Dorn walked alone under the elm trees that
plumed over the sidewalks in those environs with hands clasped behind
him, occasionally gazing into the twinkling stars of the summer night,
considering rather seriously many things. He had come out to think over
his speech to the jury the next day in a murder case pending in the
court. But the murderer kept sinking from his consciousness; the speech
would not shape itself to please him, and the young lawyer was forever
meeting rather squarely and abruptly the vision of Laura Nesbit, who
seemed to be asking him disagreeable and conclusive questions, which he
did not like to answer. Was she worth it--the sacrifice that marriage
would require of him? Was he in love with her? What is love anyway?
Wherein did it differ from certain other pleasurable emotions, to which
he was not a stranger? And why was the consciousness of her growing
larger and larger in his life? He tried to whistle reflectively, but he
had no music in his soul and whistling gave him no solace.

It was midnight when he found himself walking past the Nesbit home,
looking toward it and wondering which of the open windows was nearest to
her. He flinched with shame when he recollected himself before other
houses gazing at other windows, and he unpursed his lips t