could do for you in turn to make up even
partially; but you're so big and independent and self-sufficient--"

"Self-sufficient!" Roberts caught the dominant word and dwelt on it
meditatively. "I suppose I am that way. It never occurred to me before."
The big hands tightened suddenly, their weariness gone. "But let's forget
it," he digressed energetically. "This is the last time I'll see you for
a long time, months at least; and a lot can happen in months sometimes.
The future is the Lord's, but the present is ours. Let's enjoy it while
we may. What, by the way, are you going to do the remainder of the
Summer?"

"Do?" The girl laughed shortly. "What I'm doing now, I fancy, mostly.
Father will be away the first week in September. I promised Margery I'd
stay with her during that time; otherwise--" A gesture completed the
sentence.

Roberts looked at her oddly. "Is that what you want to do--you?" he asked
bluntly.

"Want to do?" Again the laugh. "What does it matter what I want to do?"
She caught herself suddenly. "Margery and I may go away to a lake
somewhere during that week," she completed.

"And after that?" suggested the man.

"The university will be open then. I've secured a place this
year,--assistant in English."

"You're really serious, Elice?" soberly. "This is news to me, you know.
You really purpose teaching in future?"

"Yes." She returned her companion's look steadily. "Father was not
reappointed for the coming session. He's over the age line. I supposed
you knew."

"No; I didn't know before." Without apparent reason Roberts stood up. The
great hands were working again. A moment he stood there so, the big bushy
head outlined distinctly against the starlit sky; with equal abruptness
he returned to his seat.

"What a farce this is you and I are playing," he said. "Do you really
wish it to go on longer?"

The girl did not look at him, did not move.

"Farce?" she echoed.

The man gestured swiftly.

"Don't do that, please," he prevented. "You and I know each other
entirely too well to pretend. I repeat, do you wish this travesty to go
on indefinitely? If you do I accept, of course--but--do you?"

Instinctively, as on a former occasion, the girl drew her chair farther
back on the porch, until her face was in the shadow. It was out of the
shadow that she spoke.

"Prefer it to go on? Yes," she said; "because I wish you to remain as you
are now. But really wish it, no; because it's unfair, wholly