ould hear him.

"You ask me why I feel so strongly, Minnie, and you are right to ask.
Under ordinary circumstances, Minnie, any remark of mine on the subject
would be ridiculous impertinence."

He stopped and eyed her back, but she did not move.

"It is impertinence under any circumstances, but consider the
provocation. I see a young, beautiful and sensitive girl, marrying,
frankly without love, a man whom I know to be unworthy, and you ask me
to stand aside and allow it to happen!"

"Are you still preaching?" she asked coldly over her shoulder. "It must
be a long sermon."

And then, knowing he had only a moment more, his voice changed and
became deep and earnest. His hands, that were clutching a chair-back,
took a stronger hold, so that the ends of the nails were white.

"You see, Minnie," he said, turning a little pale, "I--I love Miss
Jennings myself. You have known it a long time, for you love her, too.
It has come to the point that I measure the day by the hours when I can
see her. She doesn't care for me; sometimes I think she hates me." He
paused here, but Miss Patty didn't move. "I haven't anything to offer
a woman except a clean life and the kind of love that a woman could be
proud of. I have no title--"

Miss Patty suddenly took her fingers out of her ears and turned around.
She was flushed and shaken, but she looked past him without blinking an
eyelash to me.

"Dear me," she said, "the sermon must have been exciting, Minnie! You
are quite trembly!"

And with that she picked up her muff and went out, with not a glance at
him.

He looked at me.

"Well," he said, "THAT'S over. She's angry, Minnie, and she'll never
forgive me."

"Stuff!" I snapped, "I notice she waited to hear it all, and no real
woman ever hated a man for saying he loved her."

CHAPTER XXIX

A BIG NIGHT TO-NIGHT

I carried out the supper to the shelter-house as usual that night, but
I might have saved myself the trouble. Mrs. Dicky was sitting on a box,
with her hair in puffs and the folding card-table before her, and Mr.
Dick was uncorking a bottle of champagne with a nail. There were two or
three queer-smelling cans open on the table.

Mrs. Dick looked at my basket and turned up her nose.

"Put it anywhere, Minnie," she said loftily, "I dare say it doesn't
contain anything reckless."

"Cold ham and egg salad," I said, setting it down with a slam. "Stewed
prunes and boiled rice for dessert. If those cans taste a