Lee won't let me off; he'll exact every penny. I would gladly have given all my possessions to get it back again when I lost it. But now—"

Here Lawrence paused. He was gazing persistently at his companion. But she did not seem to be aware of this gaze. She did not try to help him out with his sentence. She was standing in perfect quiet; she was not a nervous woman, and she could remain for several moments without moving.

It was six months since Lawrence had seen Carolyn. He was wondering if she had always impressed him as she impressed him now. If she had done so, he thought it was inexplicable that he should have forgotten.

But then, formerly, he had seen somebody else. That accounted for everything, of course.

At this fancy he smiled.

And he wished that carbuncle had not been found. It seemed awkward to have that turn up now when he had ceased to care for it. It was like a ghost stalking out of the past.

He took a step towards the door.

"I'm as dingy with heat and dust as a savage," he remarked. "I suppose I can have my old room?"

"Of course."

"All right, then. Do stay out here until I come down, Caro; will you?"

He advanced now towards her.

"Will you?"

"If mamma doesn't call me."

"Very well."

Lawrence went into the hall and to the foot of the stairs. With his hand on the post, he paused. He stood there an instant, then he turned back. He rejoined the girl on the piazza. She had walked to the railing and was leaning both hands upon it. Lawrence caught a glimpse of her profile, and his own face grew tender at sight of it.

"Where in the world have my eyes been?" he asked himself.

She turned quickly as he came through the door.

"I came back because I was afraid Aunt Tishy would call you," he said.

"Oh!"

"Yes."

Then the two stood in silence.

"You see, I wanted to ask you about that man person who was hanging around you when I was at home the last time."

"What man person?"

"No wonder you don't know. I ought to be more specific. I mean the Morgan fellow."

"Nothing about him that I know."

Lawrence flung back his shoulders. His eyes began to sparkle.

"All the better for me, then," he exclaimed. "Caro," he went on, more softly, "do you think you could possibly make up your mind to marry me?"

There was a moment's silence, during which the girl's eyes were drooped. She had not flushed; she had grown white.

"Could you do it?" he repeated, gently.

He bent and took her hand. She withdrew it.

"I'm sorry you've asked me this," she said.

To these words he made no reply. His face grew a trifle set.

"Because," she went on, hesitatingly,—"because I feel almost sure—at least I'm afraid—"

"Well?" He spoke peremptorily.

"I'm nearly certain that you don't know surely that—that you've stopped loving Prudence."

He burst into a laugh; but he stopped laughing directly. He took her hand again. "Is that all?" he asked.

"Yes; I think that's all. And that's quite enough. You see, I was here when you were in love with her; I know something about how you loved her. You did love her. And you can't have forgotten it in less than two years. Why, I couldn't forget such an experience in a lifetime. It must have been like—like fire sweeping over your heart."

"But a man comes to his senses; a man gets over everything, you know. And I've had my lesson."

Lawrence was speaking eagerly now. His whole face began to glow.

"If you could only say yes to me, dear Caro!" he went on. "If you feel hopeful that you could learn to love me,—tell me, do you think you could learn?"

She smiled, and Lawrence asked himself why he had never before particularly noticed her smile.

"I think I could learn," she said, at last.

"Then you are promised to me? Caro, say, 'Rodney, I am promised to you.'"

He had drawn her more closely.

"Say it."

"Rodney, I am promised to you."

"Thank you, dear little girl, thank you. We shall be as happy as the day is long. I begin to be happy already."

She looked up at him wistfully. Her features were not quite steady.

"Oh," she whispered, "I hope you haven't made a mistake!"

"I'm sure I've not."

He kissed her, but she shrank a little from him. She put her hand on his breast, and thrust him from her.

"If you find you have made a mistake," she said, solemnly, "remember you are not bound,—not bound one instant after you see how blind you've been."

"I am glad to be bound to you," he returned, as solemnly as she had spoken,—"grateful beyond words, Caro, as time will prove to you."

The girl suddenly took the man's hands, and held them fast, looking earnestly in his face as she did so.

Then she said, nearly in a whisper:

"Yes, I love you, Rodney."

But the instant she had uttered those words, she was aware that he had not spoken thus, and a scorching blush rose to her face, and burned there until she was almost suffocated with it.

"Bless you for that! Oh, you don't know how I bless you for that!" exclaimed Lawrence, quickly. "And I love you with a love that lasts,—that means something,—that takes hold on life."

He spoke fervently. He had his arm about Caro now. His eyes were shining.

It was at this moment that a small figure in a naval suit appeared on the outside of the piazza, at the farther end of it. This figure noiselessly vaulted over the railing, and as noiselessly came forward.

Within a few yards Leander paused, with his hands thrust to the very depths of his pockets, and his small legs wide apart. His eyes were what romance writers used to call "glued" to the two standing there. His mouth was stretched in an appreciative grin. Directly it changed from a grin to a round shape, and a shrill whistle was emitted from it.

The two started. Lawrence wheeled round, frowning. He subdued his first impulse, which was to take that atom and fling him over the railing.

Leander nodded amicably.

"How de do?" he inquired.

"I'm pretty well, thank ye," answered Lawrence.

The boy looked with a new and curious interest at his sister. "Was she in love?" he was asking himself. And he immediately put the question aloud:

"I say, sis, are you in love? Is that why you 'n' Rodney were huggin' so?"

"Hold your tongue," Lawrence promptly commanded.

"All right." Then, contemplatively, "I s'pose you 'n' sis are spoons, ain't you? That's what the new chambermaid 'n' the coachman are. He told me the other day that he 'n' she were spoons. They were huggin', too. And I asked him about it."

"I'll swear you asked him about it," responded Lawrence.

Then the young man made a diversion. He walked forward, and laid hold of Leander's shoulder.

"I heard you found a ring," he said.

The boy puckered his face, and gazed up at the face above him.

"You bet," he replied at last. "Prove property and pay for this advertisement, and—fork over the fifty dollars,—that is, if you want her."

At this stage in the conversation, Leander's sister escaped to her own room, where she sat for a long time by the window, looking off on the bay.

Below she heard the murmur of voices, the shrill tones of her brother, and the deeper tones of Rodney.

She put her hand down to her belt. Her fingers touched something which rustled. She had thrust her cousin's letter into her belt. She now drew it out, and read it again. She read it as if it were written in a foreign language, and as if she were