re as they are. You must make
up your mind, Mr. Welles."

"But, great heavens, dear Miss Gould, what do you mean? What am I
to make up my mind about? Am I to provide myself with an occupation,
perhaps, for the sake of Tom Waters's principles? Or am I--"

"Yes. That is just it. You know what I have always felt, Mr. Welles,
about it. But I never seemed to be able to make you see. Now, as I say,
things have come to a point. You must do something."

"But this is absurd, Miss Gould! I am not a child, and surely nobody can
dream of holding you in any way responsible--"

"_I_ hold myself responsible," she replied simply, "and I have never
approved of it--never!"

He shrugged his shoulders desperately. She was imperturbable; she was
impossible; she was beyond argument or persuasion or ridicule.

"Suppose I say that I think the situation is absurd, and that I refuse
to be placed at Mr. Waters's disposal?" he suggested with a furtive
glance. She drew the ivory hook through the green meshes a little
faster.

"I should be obliged to refuse to renew your lease in the fall," she
answered. He started from his wicker chair.

"You cannot mean it, Miss Gould! You would not be so--so unkind, so
unjust!"

"I should feel obliged to, Mr. Welles, and I should not feel unjust."

He sank back into the yielding chair with a sigh. After all, her
fascination had always lain in her great decision. Was it not illogical
to expect her to fail to display it at such a crisis? There was a long
silence. The sun sank lower and lower, the birds twittered happily
around them. Miss Gould's long white hook slipped in and out of the
wool, and her lodger's eyes followed it absently. After a while he rose,
settled his white jacket elaborately, and half turned as if to go back
to the house.

"I need not tell you how I regret this unfortunate decision of yours,"
he said politely, with a slight touch of the hauteur that sat so well on
his graceful person. "I can only say that I am sorry you yourself should
regret it so little, and that I hope it will not disturb our pleasant
acquaintance during the weeks that remain to me."

She bowed slightly with a dignified gesture that often served her as a
reply, and he took a step toward her.

"Would we not better come in?" he suggested. "The sun is gone, and your
dress is thin. Let me send Henry after the chairs," and his eyes dropped
to her hands again. They were nearly hidden by the green wool, but the
long