Sylvia took an abrupt resolution, sat down on the pine-needles, and said, very directly, “I am on my way to Austin Farm to see if Austin Page still wants to marry me.”  Her manner had the austere simplicity of one who has been moving in great and grave emotions.

Arnold spoke with an involuntary quickness:  “But you’ve heard, haven’t you, about his giving up all his Colorado ...”

Sylvia flushed a deep crimson and paid with a moment of bitter, shamed resentment for the other bygone moments of calculation.  “Yes, yes, of course.”  She spoke with a stern impatience.  “Did you suppose it was for his fortune that—­” She paused and said humbly, “Of course, it’s natural that you should think that of me.”

Arnold attempted no self-exculpation.  He sat down by her, his riding-crop across his knees.  “Could you—­do you feel like telling me about it?” he asked.

She nodded.  It came to her like an inspiration that only if she opened her heart utterly to Arnold, could he open his sore heart to her.  “There’s not much to tell.  I don’t know where to begin.  Perhaps there’s too much to tell, after all, I didn’t know what any of it meant till now.  It’s the strangest thing, Arnold, how little people know what is growing strong in their lives!  I supposed all the time I only liked him because he was so rich.  I thought it must be so.  I thought that was the kind of girl I was.  And then, besides, I’d—­perhaps you didn’t know how much I’d liked Felix Morrison.”

Arnold nodded.  “I sort of guessed so.  You were awfully game, then, Sylvia.  You’re game now—­it’s awfully white to fall in love with a man because he’s rich and then stick to him when he’s—­”

Sylvia waved her hand impatiently.  “Oh, you don’t understand.  It’s not because I think I ought to—­Heavens, no!  Let me try to tell you.  Listen!  When the news came, about this Colorado business—­I was about crazy for a while.  I just went to pieces.  I knew I ought to answer his letter, but I couldn’t.  I see now, looking back, that I had just crumpled up under the weight of my weakness.  I didn’t know it then.  I kept saying to myself that I was only putting off deciding till I could think more about it, but I know now that I had decided to give him up, never to see him again—­Felix was there, you know—­I’d decided to give Austin up because he wasn’t rich any more.  Did you know I was that base sort of a woman?  Do you suppose he will ever be willing to take me back?—­now after this long time?  It’s a month since I got his letter.”

Arnold bent his riding-crop between his thin, nervous hands.  “Are you sure now, Sylvia, are you sure now, dead sure?” he asked.  “It would be pretty hard on Austin if you—­afterwards—­he’s such a square, straight sort of a man, you ought to be awfully careful not to—­”