o single out Mr. Spence for
especial consideration. She could not, however, resist saying, "New
Yorkers are like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

She coloured.

"Like--Mr. Spence. A little--self-assertive, sure of themselves." She
strove to keep out of her voice any suspicion of the agitation which
was the result of the events of an extraordinary day, not yet ended.
She knew that it would have been wiser not to have mentioned Howard; but
Peter's silence, somehow, had impelled her to speak. "He has made quite
an unusual success for so young a man."

Peter looked at her and shook his head.

"New York--success! What is to become of poor old St. Louis?" he
inquired.

"Oh, I'm going back next week," Honora cried. "I wish I were going with
you."

"And leave all this," he said incredulously, "for trolley rides and
Forest Park and--and me?"

He stopped in the garden path and looked upon the picture she made
standing in the sunlight against the blazing borders, her wide hat
casting a shadow on her face. And the smile which she had known so well
since childhood, indulgent, quizzical, with a touch of sadness, was in
his eyes. She was conscious of a slight resentment. Was there, in fact,
no change in her as the result of the events of those momentous ten
months since she had seen him? And rather than a tolerance in which
there was neither antagonism nor envy, she would have preferred from
Peter an open disapproval of luxury, of the standards which he implied
were hers. She felt that she had stepped into another world, but he
refused to be dazzled by it. He insisted upon treating her as the same
Honora.

"How did you leave Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary?" she asked.

They were counting the days, he said, until she should return, but they
did not wish to curtail her visit. They did not expect her next week, he
knew.

Honora coloured again.

"I feel--that I ought to go to them," she said.

He glanced at her as though her determination to leave Silverdale so
soon surprised him.

"They will be very happy to see you, Honora," he said. "They have been
very lonesome."

She softened. Some unaccountable impulse prompted her to ask: "And you?
Have you missed me--a little?"

He did not answer, and she saw that he was profoundly affected. She laid
a hand upon his arm.

"Oh, Peter, I didn't mean that," she cried. "I know you have. And I have
missed you--terribly. It seems so strange seeing you here," she went on
hurriedly. "The