ne made anything at all it would be enough
for her. He seemed to be under the notion that he needed a lot to get
married, whereas she would have been glad to risk it on almost anything
at all.

This latest revelation of herself, besides tearing her mind from a
carefully nurtured belief in her own virtuous impregnability, raised at
the same time a spectre of disaster in so far as Eugene's love for her
was concerned. Would he, now that she had allowed him those precious
endearments which should have been reserved for the marriage bed only,
care for her as much as he had before? Would he not think of her as a
light minded, easily spoiled creature who was waiting only for a
propitious moment to yield herself? She had been lost to all sense of
right and wrong in that hour, that she knew. Her father's character and
what he stood for, her mother's decency and love of virtue, her
cleanly-minded, right-living brothers and sisters,--all had been
forgotten and here she was, a tainted maiden, virtuous in technical
sense it is true, but tainted. Her convention-trained conscience smote
her vigorously and she groaned in her heart. She went outside the door
of her own room and sat down on the damp grass in the early morning to
think. It was so cool and calm everywhere but in her own soul. She held
her face in her hands, feeling her hot cheeks, wondering what Eugene was
thinking now. What would her father think, her mother? She wrung her
hands more than once and finally went inside to see if she could not
rest. She was not unconscious of the beauty and joy of the episode, but
she was troubled by what she felt she ought to think, what the
consequences to her future might be. To hold Eugene now--that was a
subtle question. To hold up her head in front of him as she had, could
she? To keep him from going further. It was a difficult situation and
she tossed restlessly all night, getting little sleep. In the morning
she arose weary and disturbed, but more desperately in love than ever.
This wonderful youth had revealed an entirely new and intensely dramatic
world to her.

When they met on the lawn again before breakfast, Angela was garbed in
white linen. She looked waxen and delicate and her eyes showed dark
rings as well as the dark thoughts that were troubling her. Eugene took
her hand sympathetically.

"Don't worry," he said, "I know. It isn't as bad as you think." And he
smiled tenderly.

"Oh, Eugene, I don't understand myself now,"