“Yes, I love you.  You think it’s horrid that I should say so, don’t you?  But I don’t care, I love you.  I loved you the first time I saw you, though you made me so angry about my glasses.  But you were my master, and I knew it, and I never put them on again.  And I thought of you day and night, and I longed for the day to come when I might see you once more, and I was glad when I did not get that place, so that I could come again and see you and talk with you.  I can tell you over again every word you ever said to me.  You were not like other men.  You are the first real man I ever knew.  I was silly and wild when I wanted to be your secretary.  Of course, that wouldn’t do.  If I am not to be your wife, I must never see you again; you know that, don’t you?” and, carried away by her own reckless words, she laid her hand on his shoulder.  His frown of amazement and displeasure shook her composure somewhat.  She turned pale and trembled, her eyes fell, and it seemed for an instant as if she would sink to the floor at his feet.  He put his arm around her, to keep her from falling and pressed her closely to him.  She threw her head back upon his shoulder and lifted her face to him.  He looked down on her, and the frown passed from his brow as he surveyed her flushed cheeks, her red full lips parted in breathless eagerness; her dark eyes were wide open, the iris flecked with golden sparks and the white as clear and blue-tinged as in the eyes of a vigorous infant; her head lay on his shoulder in perfect content, and she put up her mouth to him as simply and as sure of a response as a pretty child.  He was entirely aware of the ridiculousness of his position, but he stooped and kissed her.

Her work seemed all done; but her satisfaction lasted only a second.  Her face broke into happy smiles.

“You do love me, do you not?” she asked.

“I certainly do not,” he answered; and at that instant the door opened and Mrs. Belding saw this pretty group of apparent lovers on a rich background of Jacqueminot roses.

Startled more at the words of Farnham than at the entry of Mrs. Belding, Maud had started up, like Vivien, “stiff as a viper frozen.”  Her first thought was whether she had crushed her hat on his shoulder, and her hands flew instinctively to her head-gear.  She then walked tempestuously past the astonished lady out into the garden and brushed roughly by Sleeny, who tried to detain her.

“Hold your tongue, Sam!  I hate you and all men”; and with this general denunciation, she passed out of the place, flaming with rage and shame.

Mrs. Belding stood for a moment speechless, and then resorted to the use of that hard-worked and useful monosyllable,

“Well!” with a sharp, falling inflection.

“Well!” returned Farnham, with an easy, rising accent; and then both of them relieved the strained situation with a laugh.

“Come, now,” said the good-natured woman, “I am a sort of guardian of yours.  Give an account of yourself.”