ed not to need ask twice."

"Our situation is now reversed, Helena."

"Please, let me walk with you, Sir!"

"I dare not. We might both forget ourselves and go off to New Orleans
for a lark without Aunt Lucinda."

"Oh, I am going to call Aunt Lucinda, too."

"Pardon, but you are going to do nothing of the kind. Even with her as
chaperon, did we get down there in the old city once more, like the
children we once were, Helena, we would forget our duty, would,
perhaps, forget our purpose here. Mademoiselle, I dare not take that
risk."

"Please, Sir, may I walk with you over yonder for just a little time?"
she said, as though it were her first request. She was tying her
quaint little white bonnet strings under her chin now. I raised a
hand.

"You ask a man to put himself into the power of the woman he loves
most in all the world. When a man needs resolution, dare he look into
the eyes of that woman, feel her hand on his arm, have her walk close
to him as they promenade?"

"Dear me! Is it so bad as that?"

"Worse, Helena."

"Then I am to continue a prisoner in that hat box?"

"Until you love me, Helena, as I do you."

"As I told you, that would be a long time."

"Yes! For never in the world can you love me as I do you. I had
forgotten that."

"If only you could forget everything and just be a nice young man,"
said she. "It is such fun. This dear old town, don't you know? Now,
with a nice young man to go about with Aunt Lucinda and me----"

"How would a man like Calvin Davidson do?" I demanded bitterly.

"Very well. He is nice enough."

"I suppose so. He is rich, able to have his horses and cars--even his
private yacht. He can order a dinner in any country in the world, or
tell you the standing of any club, in either league, at any minute of
the day or night. Could I say more for his education? He has two
country places and a city house and a business which nets him a
hundred thousand a year. How can he help being nice? I do not resemble
Mr. Davidson in any particular, except that I am wearing one of his
waistcoats. Also, Helena, I am wearing a suit of flannels which I have
borrowed from John, his Chinese cook. You can readily see I am a poor
man. How, then, can I be nice?"

"No one would see us here," said she, sublimely irrelevant, as usual.
"There are some little yellow flowers over there on the bank. Maybe I
could find some violets."

There was a wistfulness in her gaze which made appeal. I could