oyance made her look so mature that
he was apologetic; was she in love with the cub? He was suddenly
dismayed, though he could not have said why. "I don't like jokes like
that," Edith said.

"I beg your pardon, Edith. I somehow forget you're grown up," he said,
and sighed.

She laughed. "Eleanor and you have my age on your minds! Eleanor
informed me that I was too old to be rampaging round making hay with you
two boys! And she thinks I 'flatter' you," Edith said, grinning. "I
trust I'm not injuring your immortal soul, Maurice, and making you vain
of your muscle?"

Instantly he was angry. Eleanor, daring to interfere between himself and
Edith? He was silent for the rest of the walk home; and he was still
silent when he went up to his wife's room and found her lying on her
bed, old Bingo snoozing beside her--windows closed, shades down. "Oh,
Maurice!" she said, with a gasp of relief; "I was so afraid you would
get caught in a thunderstorm!"

"_Don't_ be so absurd!" he said.

"I--I love you; that's why I am 'absurd,'" she said, piteously. It was
as if she held to his lips the cup of her heart, brimming with those
unshed tears,--but is there any man who would not turn away from a cup
that holds so bitter a draught?

Maurice turned away. "This room is insufferably hot!" he said. He let a
window curtain roll up with a jerk, and flung open a window.

She was silent.

"I wish," he said, "that you'd let up on Edith. You're always
criticizing her. I don't like it."

* * * * *

That night Johnny Bennett, somehow, lured Edith out on to the porch to
say good night. The thunderstorm had come and gone, and the drenched
garden was heavy with wet fragrance.

"Let's sit down," Johnny said; then, beseechingly, "Edith, don't you
feel a little differently about me, now?"

"Oh, Johnny, _dear_!"

"Just a little, Edith? You don't know what it would mean to me, just to
hope?"

"Johnny, I am awfully fond of you, but--"

"Well, never mind," he said, patiently, "I'll wait."

He went down the steps, hesitated, and, while Edith was still squeezing
a little wet ball of a handkerchief against her eyes, came back.

"Do you mind if I ask you just one question, Edith?"

"Of course not! Only, Johnny, it just about _kills_ me to be--horrid to
you."

"Have you really got to be horrid?" said John Bennett.

"Johnny, I _can't_ help it!"

"Is it because there's any other fellow, Edith? That's the quest