ad smile. "If I go abroad now, as you
advise--"

"Advise? I advise!"

"Did you not?"

"Not the least creature moving. Never!"

"If you did you would say, 'Keep to music.'"

"I should say, 'Keep to architecture.' Then--don't you see?--I should
have all your pupils."

"That would matter little: you have long had all that I could give you
worth the giving, Miss Ayres."

Were these words intent on having utterance, and seeking their
opportunity?

In the midst of her lightness and seeming unconcern the young lady found
herself challenged, as it were, by the stern voice of a sentinel on
guard. But she answered on the instant: "The most delicious music I have
ever heard, for which I owe you endless thanks. I have said
architecture; but I never advise, you know."

"She has not understood me," thought Leonhard, but instead of taking
advantage of that conclusion and retiring from the ground, he said,
"Perhaps I must speak more clearly. I don't care what I do or where I
go, Miss Marion, if you are indifferent. I love you."

What did he read in the face which his dark eyes scanned as they turned
full upon it? Was it "I love you"? Was it "Alas!"? He could not tell.

"You are pledged to love 'the True and the Beautiful,'" said she quite
gayly, "and so I am not surprised."

Leonhard looked mortified and angry. A man of twenty-two declaring love
for the first time to a woman had a right to expect better treatment.

"I have offended you," she said instantly. "I only followed out your own
train of thought. You may have half a dozen professions, and--"

"I am at least clear that I love only you," he said. "I hoped you would
feel that. It is certain, I think, that I shall confine myself to the
studies of an architect hereafter. I will give no more lessons. And
shall you care to know whether I go or stay?"

Miss Ayres answered--almost as if in spite of herself and that good
judgment for which she had been sufficiently praised during her eighteen
years of existence--"Yes, I shall care a vast deal. That is the reason
why I say, 'Go, if it seems best to you'--'Stay, if you think it more
wise.' I have the confidence in you that sees you can conduct your own
affairs."

"If I go," he cried in a happy voice, in strong contrast with his words,
"it will be to leave everything behind me that can make life sweet."

"But if you go it will be to gain everything that can make life
honorable. I did not understand that you thought of