“But, Doctor, you haven’t helped me a bit to decide,” she said, aggrievedly.

“I can’t, my dear.  No one can.  And, what’s more, you don’t want me to.”

“Why, Doctor, I”—­she began.  Then she dropped her eyes and a little smile trembled at her lips.  “How do you know?” she asked.

“I know a few things yet, Miss Eve,” he chuckled, picking up his old black leather bag.

“Just a moment, please,” begged Eve.  “Did he ever tell you that he wanted me to take some of Cousin Edward’s money?”

“M’m, yes, he did tell me that,” responded the Doctor cautiously.  “But that’s nothing against him.”

“N-no, I know it isn’t.  And he said—­says he will have his way.”

The Doctor settled his hat and gripped his stick.

“Then I guess he will.  He looks that kind of a man.”

“He never will,” said Eve, firmly, “never!”

“Unless,” chuckled the Doctor, “you marry him.”  He waved his cane and strode away toward the gate.  “How about that?” he called back over the hedge.

Eve made no answer.  She was thinking very busily.  “Unless I marry him!” she repeated, somewhat blankly, staring at the turquoise ring which she was slipping around and around on her finger.  The moments passed.  A frown crept into her forehead and grew there, dark and threatening, under the warm shadow of her hair.  “And so that’s it,” she thought bitterly and angrily.  “That’s what it means.  That’s why he’s acted so strangely since—­since he asked me to marry him.  It’s just a trick to get his own way.  He’d marry me as a sop to his conscience.  It’s just the money, after all.  Oh, I wish—­I wish Cousin Edward had never had any money!”

She sat there a long time, while the shadows shortened and the birds grew silent, one by one, and the noonday hush fell over the old garden; sat there until Miss Mullett came to the kitchen door and summoned her to luncheon.

XV.

Wade rolled a vest into a tight wad and tucked it into a corner of the till.  Then he glanced around the sitting-room, saw nothing else to pack, and softly dropped the lid.  That done he sat down on it and relighted his pipe.

It was two days since Eve and the Doctor had talked under the cedars, one day since Wade had received her note.  He had not seen her since.  She hadn’t asked him not to, but Wade had stereotyped ideas as to the proper conduct of a rejected suitor, and he intended to live up to them.  Of course he would call in the morning and say good bye.

He felt no resentment against Eve, although her note would have supplied sufficient excuse.  He didn’t quite know what he did feel.  He had striven the evening before to diagnose his condition, with the result that he had decided that his heart was not broken, although there was a peculiar dull aching sensation there that he fancied was destined to grow worse before it got better.  So far, what seemed