really
the important things.

"I hated to think that you dropped Mr. Dalton in the fountain. I
hated to think that you wanted to burn him at the stake--there was
something--cruel--and--dreadful in it all. I have kept thinking of
that struggle between you--in the dark---- I have hated to think
that a few years ago if you had felt as you do about him--that you
might have--killed him. But perhaps men are like that. They care
more for justice than for--mercy.

"I am trying to take your advice and tell myself the truth about
Mr. Dalton. That he isn't worth a thought of mine. Yet I think of
him a great deal. I am being very frank with you, Randy, because we
have always talked things out. I think of him, and wonder which is
the real man--the one I thought he was--and I thought him very fine
and splendid. Or is he just trifling and commonplace? Perhaps he is
just between, not as wonderful as I thought him, nor as
contemptible as I seem forced to believe.

"Yet I gave him something that it is hard to take back. I gave a
great deal. You see I had always been shut up in a glass case like
the bob-whites and the sandpipers in the Bird Room, and I knew
nothing of the world. And the first time I tried my wings, I
thought I was flying towards the sun, and it was just a blaze
that--burned me.

"Of course you are right when you say that you won't marry me
unless I love you. I had a queer feeling at first about it--as if
you were very far away and I couldn't reach you. But I know that
you are right, and that you are thinking of the thing that is best
for me. But I know I shall always have you as a friend. I don't
think that I shall ever love anybody. And after this we won't talk
about it. There are so many other things that we have to say to
each other that don't hurt----"

Becky could not, of course, know the effect of her letter on Randy. The
night after its receipt, he roamed the woods. She had thought him
cruel--and dreadful. Well, let her think it. He was glad that he had
dropped George in the fountain. He should always be glad. But women were
not like that--they were tender--and hated--hardness. Perhaps that was
because they were--mothers----

And men were--hard. He had been hard, perhaps, in the things he had said
in his letter. Her words rang in his ears. "I had a queer feeli