nto the house and a girlish trill answered
him.

After the Doctor had jogged down the hill behind his old horse making
his evening professional visits, Mrs. Nesbit came out and made a show of
sitting with the young people for a time. And not until she left did
they go into those things that were near their hearts.

When Mrs. Nesbit left the veranda the young man moved over to the girl
and she asked: "Tom, I wonder--oh, so much and so often--about the soul
of us and the body of us--about the justice of things." She was speaking
out of the heart that Grant had touched to the quick with his outburst
about the poor. But Tom Van Dorn could not know what was moving within
her and if he had known, perhaps he would have had small sympathy with
her feeling. Then she said: "Oh, Tom, Tom, tell me--don't you suppose
that our souls pay for the bodies that we crush--I mean all of us--all
of us--every one in the world?"

The man looked at her blankly. Then he put his arm tenderly about her
and answered: "I don't know about our souls--much--" He kissed her. "But
I do know about you--your wonderful eyes--and your magic hair, and your
soft cheek!" He left her in no doubt as to her lover's mood.

Vaguely the girl felt unsatisfied with his words. Not that she doubted
the truth of them; but as she drew back from him she said softly: "But
if I were not beautiful, what then?"

"Ah, but you are--you are; in all the world there is not another like
you for me." In the rapture that followed, her soul grew in a wave of
joy, yet she spoke shyly.

"Tom," she said wistfully, "how can you fail to see it--this great,
beautiful truth that makes me glad: That the miracle of our love proves
God."

He caressed her hands and pressed closer to her. "Call it what you will,
little girl: God if it pleases you, I call it nature."

"Oh, it's bigger than that, Tom," and she shook a stubborn Satterthwaite
head, "and it makes me so happy and makes me so humble that I want to
share it with all the world." She laid an abashed cheek on his hands
that were still fondling hers.

But young Mr. Van Dorn spoke up manfully, "Well, don't you try sharing
it. I want all of it, every bit of it." He played with her hair, and
relaxed in a languor of complete possession of her.

"Doesn't love," she questioned, "lift you? Doesn't it make you love
every living thing?" she urged.

"I love only you--only you in all the world--your eyes thrill me; when
your body is near I