wish you would not
see me--"

"You said 'need not.'"

"I shall have to put it 'would not' to make you understand. When I say I
wish you would not see me until Midsummer I am saying the very kindest
thing I can. Just now you are under the impression--hallucination--that
you want to see much of me. To prove that you are mistaken I'm going to
ask this of you--not to have anything whatever to do with me until at
least Midsummer. If you carry out my wish you will find out for yourself
what I mean--and will thank me for my wisdom."

"It's a wish, is it? It sounds to me more like a decree."

"It's not a decree. I'll not refuse to see you if you come. But if you
will do as I ask I shall appreciate it more than I can tell you."

"It is certainly one of the cleverest schemes of getting rid of a fellow
I ever heard. Hang it all! do you expect me not to understand that you
are simply letting me down easy? It's not in reason to suppose that
you're forbidding all other men the house. I beg your pardon; I know
that's none of my business; but it's not in human nature to keep from
saying it, because of course that's bound to be the thing that cuts. If
you were going into a convent, and all other fellows were cooling their
heels outside with me, I could stand it."

"My dear Mr. Kendrick, you can stand it in any case. You're going to put
all this out of mind and work at building up this business here in
Eastman with Mr. Benson. You will find it a much more interesting game
than the old one of--"

"Of what? Running after every pretty girl? For of course that's what you
think I've done."

She did not answer that. He said something under his breath, and his
hands tightened on hers savagely. They were rounding the last bend but
one in the river, and the bonfire was close at hand.

"Can't you understand," he ground out, "that every other thought and
feeling and experience I've ever had melts away before this? You can put
me under ban for a year if you like; but if at the end of that time
you're not married to another man you'll find me at your elbow. I told
you I'd make you respect me; I'll do more, I'll make you listen to me.
And--if I promise not to come where you have to look at me till
Midsummer, till the twenty-fourth of June--heaven knows why you pick out
that day--I'll not promise not to make you think of me!"

"Oh, but that's part of what I mean. You mustn't send me letters and
books and flowers--"

"Oh--thunder!"

"Bec