ue eyes never shifted. Presently one big strong hand reached
over and enfolded within its grasp another tiny resistless hand, which
lay there passive.

"You're getting ready to go away, Florence," he went on, "leaving this
country where you've spent almost your life, changing it for an
uncertainty. Don't do it--not for my sake, but for your own. You know
nothing of the city, its pleasures, its rush, its excitement, its
ambitions. Granted that you've been there, that we've both been there;
but we were only children then and couldn't see beneath the thinnest
surface. Yet there must be something beneath the glitter, something
you've never thought of and cannot realize; something which makes the
life hateful to those who have felt and known it. I don't know what it
is, you don't; but it must be there. If it weren't so, why would men
like your father, like Mr. Rankin, college men, men of wealth, men who
have seen the world, leave the city and come here to stay? They were
born in cities, raised in cities. The city was a part of their life; but
they left it, and are glad." The man clasped the little hand more
tightly, shook it gently. "Florence, are you listening?"

"Yes, I'm listening."

"I repeat then, don't go. You belong here. This life is your life.
Everything that is best for your happiness you will find here. You spoke
the other day of your birthright--to love and to be loved--as though
this could only be realized in a city. Do you think I don't care for you
as much as though my home were in a town?"

Passive, motionless, Florence listened, feeling the subtle sympathy
which ever existed between her and this boy-man drawing them closer
together. His strong magnetism, never before so potent, gripped her
almost like a physical force. His personality, original, masterful,
convincing, fascinated her. For the time the tacit consent of her
position never occurred to her. It seemed but natural and fitting that
he should hold her hand. She had no desire to speak or move, merely to
listen.

"Florence," the voice was very near now, and very low. "Florence, I love
you. I can't have you go away, can't have you pass out of my life. I'll
do anything for you,--live for you, die for you, fight for you, slave
for you,--anything but give you up." Of a sudden his arms were about
her, his lips touched her cheek. "Can't you love me in return? Speak to
me, tell me--for I love you, Florence!"

The girl started, and drew away involuntari