me my answer. I thought I could wait until tomorrow, but I can't;
you must tell me tonight; you must!"

"Must?" She drew away from him and leaned against a tall garden vase
overrun with clustering vines. They were in the full blaze of light
from the windows; she felt safer there where they were likely to be
interrupted every minute; the man surely dared not be wildly
sentimental in full view of the crowd--which conclusion showed that
she was not yet fully aware of what Kenneth McVeigh would dare do
where a woman--or the woman was in question.

"An hour ago you said: 'Will you?' Now it is: 'You must!'" she said,
with a fine little smile. "How quick you are to assume the tone of
master, Monsieur."

"If you said slave, the picture would have been more complete," he
answered. "I will obey you in all things except when you tell me to
leave you;" he had possessed himself of her hand, under cover of the
vines; "it's no use, Judithe, you belong to me. I can't let you go
from me again; I won't!"

All of pleading was in his voice and eyes. Moved by some sudden
impulse not entirely guileless, she looked full at him and let her
hand remain in his.

"Well, since you really cannot," she murmured.

"Judithe! You mean it?" and in an instant both his hands were clasping
hers. "You are not coquetting with me this time? Judithe!"

She attempted to draw her hand away, but he bent his head, and kissed
the warm palm. Margeret who was lighting an extinguished lantern, saw
the caress and heard the low, deep tones. She turned and retraced her
steps instead of passing them.

"Do you realize that all who run may read the subject of your
discourse?" she asked, raising her brows and glancing after the
retreating woman.

"Let them, the sooner they hear it the better I shall be pleased;
come, let us tell my mother; I want to be sure of you this time, my
beautiful Judithe. What time more fitting than this for the
announcement--come!"

"What is it you would tell her?" she asked, looking straight ahead of
her into the shadows on the lawn. Her voice sounded less musical than
it had a moment before. Her eyes avoided his, and for one unguarded
instant the full sculpturesque lips were tense and rigid.

"What is it?" he repeated, "why, that I adore you! that you have been
the one woman in the world to me ever since I met you first; that I
want you for my wife, and that you--confess it again in words,
Judithe--that you love me."

She shook he