nd startled, and a dozen things that made her lovelier than ever,
with a betraying color coming and going in her charming face. And the
lover took sudden heart. How many times he had planned the scene. There
was a lover in an old novel that won an obdurate lady, and he had
rehearsed the arguments numberless times, they were so fine and
convincing. Oh, how did they begin?

He reached over suddenly and took her in his arms and kissed the
fragrant lips again and again.

"Primrose," just above his breath, "you know I love you. You must have
seen it ages ago, that morning you came,--do you remember,--when I had
been wounded, and how we talked and talked, and you sung. I couldn't
bear to have you go. You were the sweetest and dearest and most lovely
thing in the whole wide world. Polly had talked so much about you. And
ever since that you have been a part of my very life. I've been jealous,
and angry when you smiled on others, and you do it so much, Primrose;
and when that handsome young Vane was here I remembered how you loved
soldiers and was--well I could have waylaid him and done anything to
him, but that wouldn't have won you. I've waited so long. And now,
Primrose, you must give me a little hope. Just say you will love me
sometime. Oh, no! I can't wait, either. Primrose, my darling, the
sweetness and glory of my life, love me now, now."

The words came out like a torrent and carried her along. The kisses had
gone down to her very soul. The clasp of his hands thrilled her.

"Primrose, my sweetest darling----"

It seemed as if she was under a spell. She tried to free herself, but
she had no strength. Other men had said silly things, but this was like
a swift rush of music, and she was sure no one had ever uttered Primrose
in such an exquisitely delicious tone before.

"Oh, Allin!" in a half sigh.

All the answer was kisses.

"Allin, Allin! Oh, let me--yes, let me free. I must tell you----"

"You must tell me nothing, save that you love me. I will listen to
nothing else. Primrose, sweetest, dearest----"

"Oh, hush, Allin, let me think----"

If she did not mean to love him he would know it by some sure sign. The
hesitation, the half yielding tells its own story.

And the very foolishness of love went to her heart. The vehemence, the
ownership in its fearlessness, the persuasive certainty. Of course she
had known it all along, she had feared now on the side of distance, now
that he might speak too soon, then wo