ur home. Every one of them was busy and happy; every one of
them was leading a life worth while. Slowly I waked up. I believe I'm
wide awake now. What's more, nothing could ever tempt me to go to sleep
again. I've learned to _like_ being awake!

You decreed that I should keep away from you all these months. I agreed,
and I have kept my word. All the while has been the fear bothering me
beyond endurance that you did it to be rid of me. I said some bold words
to you--to make you remember me. Roberta, I am humbler to-day than I was
then. I shouldn't dare say them to you now. I was madly in love with you
then; I dared say anything. I am not less in love now--great heavens! not
less--but I have grown to worship you so that I have become afraid. When
I saw you in my room before my mother's portrait I could have knelt at
your feet. From the beginning I have felt that I was not worthy of you,
but I feel it so much more deeply now that I don't know how to offer
myself to you. I have written as if I wanted to persuade you that I am
more of a man than when you knew me first, and therefore more worthy of
you. I _am_ more of a man, but by just so much more do I realize my own
unworthiness.

And yet--it is Midsummer Day; this is the twenty-fourth of June--and I am
on fire with love and longing for you, and I must know whether you care.
If I were strong enough I would offer to wait longer before asking you to
tell me--but I'm not strong enough for that.

I have a plan which I am hoping you will let me carry out, whatever
answer you are going to give me. If you will allow it I will ask Mr. and
Mrs. Stephen Gray to go with us on a long horseback ride this afternoon,
to have supper at a place I know. I could take you all in my car if you
prefer, but I hope you will not prefer it. You have never seemed like a
motoring girl to me every other one I know is--and ever since I saw you
on Colonel last November I've been hoping to have a ride with you. If I
can have it to-day--Midsummer--it will be a dream fulfilled. If only I
dared hope my other--and dearer--dream were to come true! Roberta, are we
really so different? I have thought a thousand times of your "_stout
little cabin on the hilltop_," where you would like to spend "_the worst
night of the winter_." All alone? "_Well, with a fire for company,
and--perhaps--a dog_." But not with a good comrade? "_There are so
few good comrades--who can be tolerant of one's every mood_." You were
rig