blindly ahead. Somehow she had
got through with it, and now she seemed to herself to be sitting amidst
the ruins of her womanhood.

It was particularly remarked that Arthur Burton's laughter, as he
leaned against the fence a square away in convulsions of merriment,
was noiseless, but it was perfectly audible to Maud, as she sat in
the darkness of her chamber. Nay, more: although his thoughts were not
uttered at all, she overheard them, and among them some which the young
man, to do him justice, had the grace not to think.

The final touch to her humiliation was imparted by the reflection that
she had done the thing so stupidly,--so blunderingly. If she must
needs tell a man she loved him, could she not have told him in language
which at least would have been forcible and dignified? Instead of that,
she had begun with mawkish compliments, unable in her excitement to
think of anything else, and ended with an incoherent jumble that barely
escaped being hysterical He would think that she was as lacking in sense
as in womanly self-respect. At last she turned up the gas, for very
shame avoiding a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she did so, and
bathed her burning cheeks.

II

Meanwhile Arthur had reached home and was likewise sitting in his room,
thinking the matter over from his point of view, with the assistance of
a long-stemmed pipe. But instead of turning the gas down, as Maud had
done, he had turned it up, and, having lighted all the jets in the room,
had planted his chair directly in front of the big looking-glass, so
that he might enjoy the reflection of his own amusement and be doubly
entertained.

By this time, however, amazement and amusement had passed their acute
stages. He was considering somewhat more seriously, but still with
frequent attacks of mirth, the practical aspects of the predicament in
which Maud's declaration had placed him; and the more he considered it,
the more awkward as well as absurd that predicament appeared. They had
the same acquaintances, went to the same parties, and were very likely
to meet whenever they went out of an evening. What if she should
continue to pursue him? If she did, he either would have to cut society,
which had promised to be unusually lively that winter, or provide
himself with a chaperon for protection. For the first time in his life
he was in a position to appreciate the courage of American girls, who,
without a tremor, venture themselves, year in and y