beautiful the cypresses are in the sunshine!" she exclaimed,
standing.

He reached out and caught her hand, gently pulling her down to the
bench.

"The ten minutes are up," he said.

"Oh, I said let us be sensible for ten minutes," she demurred.

"I've been telling you the truth; that's sensible enough. Kitty, will
you marry me?"

"Could you take care of me?"

"I have these two hands. I'll work."

"That would be terrible! Oh, if you were only rich!"

"You don't mean that, Kitty."

"No," relenting, "I don't. But you bother me."

"All right. This will be the last time. Will you marry me? I will do all
a man can to make you happy. I love you with all my heart. I know.
You're afraid; you've an idea that I am fickle. But not this time,
Kitty, not this time. Will you?"

"I can not give up the stage." She knew very well that she could, but
she had an idea.

"I don't ask even that. I'll travel with you and make myself useful."

"You would soon tire of that." But Kitty eyed him with a kindly look. He
_was_ good to look at. Kitty was like the timid bather; she knew that
she was going to take the plunge, but she must put one foot into the
water, withdraw it, shudder, and try it again.

"Tire?" said Merrihew. "If I did I shouldn't let you know it. I'm a
homeless beggar, anyhow; I've always been living in boarding-houses and
clubs and hotels; it won't matter so long as you are with me."

Kitty threw a crust to the goldfish and watched them swirl about it
greedily. Merrihew had no eyes but for her. Impulsively he held out his
hand. Kitty looked at it with thought; this would be the final plunge.
Then, without further hesitance, indifferent to the future or the past,
conscious only of the vast happiness of the present, Kitty laid her hand
in his. He would have drawn her into his arms had not they both seen
O'Mally pushing through the box-hedge, followed by some belated
tourists. Merrihew swore softly and Kitty laughed.

On the terrace the tea-table dazzled the eye with its spotless linen,
its blue Canton, and its bundle of pink roses. Hillard extended his cup
for a second filling, vaguely wondering where Merrihew was. They had
threshed continental politics, engineering, art and the relative crafts,
precious stones, astronomy and the applied sciences, music, horses, and
geology, with long pauses in between. Both knew instinctively that this
learned discourse was but a makeshift, a circuitous route past
danger-point