think we are being watched."

He left her, and on the way home in the auto he whispered: "I shall be
on the west veranda tonight. Will you come?"

"I don't know, I'll try."

He walked leisurely to that place later when all was still, and sat down
to wait. Gradually the great house quieted. It was one and one-thirty,
and then nearly two before the door opened. A figure slipped out, the
lovely form of Suzanne, dressed as she had been at the ball, a veil of
lace over her hair.

"I'm so afraid," she said, "I scarcely know what I am doing. Are you
sure no one will see us?"

"Let us walk down the path to the field." It was the same way they had
taken in the early spring when he had met her here before. In the west
hung low a waning moon, yellow, sickle shaped, very large because of the
hour.

"Do you remember when we were here before?"

"Yes."

"I loved you then. Did you care for me?"

"No."

They walked on under the trees, he holding her hand.

"Oh, this night, this night," he said, the strain of his intense emotion
wearying him.

They came out from under the trees at the end of the path. There was a
sense of August dryness in the air. It was warm, sensuous. About were
the sounds of insects, faint bumblings, cracklings. A tree toad chirped,
or a bird cried.

"Come to me, Suzanne," he said at last when they emerged into the full
light of the moon at the end of the path and paused. "Come to me." He
slipped his arm about her.

"No," she said. "No."

"Look at me, Suzanne," he pleaded; "I want to tell you how much I love
you. Oh, I have no words. It seems ridiculous to try to tell you. Tell
me that you love me, Suzanne. Tell me now. I am crazy with love of you.
Tell me."

"No," she said, "I can't."

"Kiss me!"

"No!"

He drew her to him and turned her face up by her chin in spite of her.
"Open your eyes," he pleaded. "Oh, God! That this should come to me! Now
I could die. Life can hold no more. Oh, Flower Face! Oh, Silver Feet!
Oh, Myrtle Bloom! Divine Fire! How perfect you are. How perfect! And to
think you love me!"

He kissed her eagerly.

"Kiss me, Suzanne. Tell me that you love me. Tell me. Oh, how I love
that name, Suzanne. Whisper to me you love me."

"No."

"But you do."

"No."

"Look at me, Suzanne. Flower face. Myrtle Bloom. For God's sake, look at
me! You love me."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," she sobbed of a sudden, throwing her arm around his
neck. "Oh, yes, yes."

"Don't cry," he p