ou going?" he asked.

"Why--why--" she began, falling back. "I was going
away."

"Where to?"

"I thought I would go to Cleveland," she replied.

"What for?"

"Why--why--I meant to tell you, Lester, that I didn't
think I ought to stay here any longer this way. I didn't think it was
right. I thought I'd tell you, but I couldn't. I wrote you a
letter."

"A letter," he exclaimed. "What the deuce are you talking about?
Where is the letter?"

"There," she said, mechanically pointing to a small center-table
where the letter lay conspicuous on a large book.

"And you were really going to leave me, Jennie, with just a
letter?" said Lester, his voice hardening a little as he spoke. "I
swear to heaven you are beyond me. What's the point?" He tore open the
envelope and looked at the beginning. "Better send Vesta from the
room," he suggested.

She obeyed. Then she came back and stood there pale and wide-eyed,
looking at the wall, at the trunks, and at him. Lester read the letter
thoughtfully. He shifted his position once or twice, then dropped the
paper on the floor.

"Well, I'll tell you, Jennie," he said finally, looking at her
curiously and wondering just what he was going to say. Here again was
his chance to end this relationship if he wished. He couldn't feel
that he did wish it, seeing how peacefully things were running. They
had gone so far together it seemed ridiculous to quit now. He truly
loved her--there was no doubt of that. Still he did not want to
marry her--could not very well. She knew that. Her letter said as
much. "You have this thing wrong," he went on slowly. "I don't know
what comes over you at times, but you don't view the situation right.
I've told you before that I can't marry you--not now, anyhow.
There are too many big things involved in this, which you don't know
anything about. I love you, you know that. But my family has to be
taken into consideration, and the business. You can't see the
difficulties raised on these scores, but I can. Now I don't want you
to leave me. I care too much about you. I can't prevent you, of
course. You can go if you want to. But I don't think you ought to want
to. You don't really, do you? Sit down a minute."

Jennie, who had been counting on getting away without being seen,
was now thoroughly nonplussed. To have him begin a quiet
argument--a plea as it were. It hurt her. He, Lester, pleading
with her, and she loved him so.

She went over to him, and he took