ound of Mrs. Pasmer's voice without. Alice escaped from one door
before her mother entered by the other. Dan remained, trying to look
unconcerned, but he was sensible of succeeding so poorly that he thought
he had better offer his hand to Mrs. Pasmer at once. He told her that he
was going up to Ponkwasset Falls at two o'clock, and asked her to please
remember him to Mr. Pasmer.

She said she would, and asked him if he were to be gone long.

"Oh no; just overnight--till I can tell them what's happened." He felt
it a comfort to be trivial with Mrs. Pasmer, after bracing up to Alice's
ideals. "I suppose they'll have to know."

"What an exemplary son!" said Mrs. Pasmer. "Yes, I suppose they will."

"I supposed it would be enough if I wrote, but Alice thinks I'd better
report in person."

"I think you had, indeed! And it will be a good thing for you both to
have the time for clarifying your ideas. Did she tell you she had been
at matins this morning?" A light of laughter trembled in Mrs. Pasmer's
eyes, and Mavering could not keep a responsive gleam out of his own. In
an instant the dedication of his engagement by morning prayer ceased to
be a high and solemn thought, and became deliciously amusing; and this
laughing Alice over with her mother did more to realise the fact that
she was his than anything else had yet done.

In that dark passage outside he felt two arms go tenderly round his
neck; and a soft shape strain itself to his heart. "I know you have been
laughing about me. But you may. I'm yours now, even to laugh at, if you
want."

"You are mine to fall down and worship," he vowed, with an instant
revulsion of feeling.

Alice didn't say anything; he felt her hand fumbling about his coat
lapel. "Where is your breast pocket?" she asked; and he took hold of her
hand, which left a carte-de-visite-shaped something in his.

"It isn't very good," she murmured, as well as she could, with her lips
against his cheek, "but I thought you'd like to show them some proof of
my existence. I shall have none of yours while you're gone."

"O Alice! you think of everything!"

His heart was pierced by the soft reproach implied in her words; he had
not thought to ask her for her photograph, but she had thought to give
it; she must have felt it strange that he had not asked for it, and she
had meant to slip it in his pocket and let him find it there. But even
his pang of self-upbraiding was a part of his transport. He seemed to