book in his hand.

"I'm going," she said. "You have been very sweet to me. I don't

deserve it, you know."

He looked up at her, quizzing her through the detested glass. "You

darling," he said calmly, and she thrilled. Where had she heard that

phrase? At the _Walkuere_!

"You darling," he said; "who could help it?"

"Oh, but--" she pouted now. "Oh, but you can help it often--if you

like."

"But, you see, I don't like. I should hate myself if I thought that I

could."

"Do let me take your glass away for one minute."

"You may do what you please with it, or me."

The glass in eclipse, she looked down at him, considering, hesitating,

choosing, poised. "Oh, I was right. You look much nicer without it.

Some day I'll tell you."

He took her hand and kept it. "Some day you shall tell me a number of

things."

She did not cease to look at him, but he saw fear in her eyes. "Some

day, perhaps, but not yet."

"No," said he, "not yet--perhaps."

"Will you trust me?"

"I always have."

She sighed. "Oh, you are good. I didn't know how good." Then she

turned to go. "I told you I was going--and I am. Good night."

He put his book down. She let his eyeglass fall. He drew her to his

knee, and looked at her.

"It's not good night," he said. "That's to come."

She gave him a startled, wide look, and then her lips, before she

fled.