e
was no coward; there was nothing in her attitude to make him hesitate to
give expression to what he believed was his first real passion. But he
could do nothing. He even fancied that his face, turned towards hers,
was stiffening into a vacant smile.

The young girl rose. "I think I heard Aunt Viney call me," she said
constrainedly, and made a hesitating step forward. The spell which had
held Dick seemed to be broken suddenly; he stretched forth his arm
to detain her. But the next step appeared to carry her beyond his
influence; and it was even with a half movement of rejection that
she quickened her pace and disappeared down the path. Dick fell back
dejectedly into his seat, yet conscious of a feeling of RELIEF that
bewildered him.

But only for a moment. A recollection of the chance that he had
impotently and unaccountably thrown away returned to him. He tried to
laugh, albeit with a glowing cheek, over the momentary bashfulness which
he thought had overtaken him, and which must have made him ridiculous
in her eyes. He even took a few hesitating steps in the direction of the
path where she had disappeared. The sound of voices came to his ear, and
the light ring of Cecily's laughter. The color deepened a little on his
cheek; he re-entered the house and went to his room.

The red sunset, still faintly showing through the heavily recessed
windows to the opposite wall, made two luminous aisles through the
darkness of the long low apartment. From his easy-chair he watched the
color drop out of the sky, the yellow plain grow pallid and seem to
stretch itself to infinite rest; then a black line began to deepen and
creep towards him from the horizon edge; the day was done. It seemed to
him a day lost. He had no doubt now but that he loved his cousin, and
the opportunity of telling her so--of profiting by her predisposition of
the moment--had passed. She would remember herself, she would remember
his weak hesitancy, she would despise him. He rose and walked uneasily
up and down. And yet--and it disgusted him with himself still more--he
was again conscious of the feeling of relief he had before experienced.
A vague formula, "It's better as it is," "Who knows what might have
come of it?" he found himself repeating, without reason and without
resignation.

Ashamed even of his seclusion, he rose to join the little family circle,
which now habitually gathered around a table on the veranda of the
patio under the rays of a swin