which sloped to the
water's edge.

As they entered the gate, half hidden in the hedge, the girl exclaimed:

"What a lovely little place!"

A gardener who was watering some flowers, on a sign from Stuart
hastened up the gravel walk and opened the door.

Every window commanded entrancing views of the bay and ocean. Every
ship entering or leaving the harbour of New York must pass close and
could be seen for miles going to sea.

When Stuart finally led Nan out on the broad veranda of the second
floor, she was in a flutter of excitement over the perfection of its
details.

"I think it's wonderful, Jim!" she exclaimed with enthusiasm. "I'd like
to congratulate your friend on his good taste. And just look at those
dear little terraces which lead down to the boathouse--on one of them a
strawberry bed, on the other a garden, on the last a grape arbor, and
then the boathouse, the wharf--and look--a lovely little boat tied to
the float--it's just perfect!"

"And this outlook over bay and sea and towering hills--isn't it
wonderful?" he asked soberly--"the hills and sea with their song of the
infinite always ringing in one's soul!"

"It's glorious," she murmured. "I've never seen anything more nearly
perfect. Whose is it?"

Stuart looked into her dark eyes with desperate yearning.

"It's yours, Nan!"

"Mine?"

"Yes, dear, this is my secret. I've been building this home for you the
past year. I've put all the little money my father gave me with every
dollar I could save. It's paid for and here's the key. I meant to ask
you out here to fix our wedding day. I ask you now. Forget the
nightmare of the past two weeks and remember only that we love each
other!"

The girl's eyes grew dim for a moment and she turned away that the man
who watched might not know. Her lips quivered for just an instant, and
her hand gripped the rail of the veranda.

When she answered it was with a light banter in her tones that cut
Stuart's heart with cruel pain.

"If I'd seen it four weeks ago, Jim, I really don't see how I could
have resisted it--but now"--she shook her head and laughed--"now it's
too late!"

"My God, don't say that, Nan!" he pleaded. "It's never too late to do
right. You know that I love you. You know that you love me."

"But I've discovered," she went on with bantering, half challenging
frankness, "that I love luxury, too. I never knew how deeply and
passionately before--" she paused a moment, looking toward Sea-Gate