.... Stop! Where are
you going? Solomon, stop him!"

Solomon did not stop me. I am very glad he didn't try. No one could have
stopped me then. I was on my way back along the garden path, and if I
did not keep to that path, but plunged ruthlessly through flower beds
and shrubbery I did not care, nor do I care now.

She was sitting on the rustic seat where I had left her. There were
tears on her cheeks. She had heard me coming--a deaf person would have
heard that--and she rose as I burst into view.

"What is it?" she cried, in alarm. "Oh, what is it?"

At the sight of her I paused. I had not meant to pause; I had intended
to take her in my arms, to ask her if what I had just heard was true, to
make her answer me. But now, as she stood there before me, so young, so
girlish, so beautiful, the hopeless idiocy of the thing struck me with
overwhelming force. It WAS idiocy. It couldn't be true.

"What is it?" she repeated. "Oh, Kent! what is the matter? Why did you
come back? What has happened?"

I stepped forward. True or false I must know. I must know then and
there. It was now or never for me.

"Frances," I stammered, "I came back because--I--I have just
heard--Frances, you told me you loved someone--not Bayliss, but someone
else. Who is that someone?"

She had been pale. My sudden and unexpected appearance had frightened
her. Now as we faced each other, as I stood looking down into her face,
I saw the color rise and spread over that face from throat to brow.

"Who is it?" I repeated.

She drew back.

"I--I can't tell you," she faltered. "You mustn't ask me."

"But I do ask. You must tell me, Frances--Frances, it isn't--it can't be
that you love ME. Do you?"

She drew back still further. If there had been a way of escape I think
she would have taken it. But there was none. The thick shrubbery was
behind her and I was between her and the path. And I would not let her
pass.

"Oh, Frances, do you?" I repeated. "I never meant to ask you. I never
meant that you should know. I am so much older, and so--so unworthy--it
has seemed so hopeless and ridiculous. But I love you, Frances, I have
loved you from the very beginning, although at first I didn't realize
it. I--If you do--if you can--I--I--"

I faltered, hesitated, and stopped. She did not answer for a moment, a
long, long moment. Then:

"Mr. Knowles," she said, "you surprise me. I didn't suspect--I didn't
think--"

I sighed. I had had my answer. Of course