“Edith!” he called softly.

She answered him with a little laugh.  She was almost by his side.  He took a quick step forward.  She was standing among the deepest shadows, against the trunk of the cedar tree, her slim body leaning slightly against it.  It seemed to him that her face was whiter, her eyes softer than ever.  He took her hand in his.

She smiled.

“You must not come out to me here,” she whispered.  “Mr. Bomford will not like it.  It is most improper.”

“But it may be our good-bye,” he pleaded.  “They want me to do something, Mr. Bomford and your father, something hideous, utterly grotesque.  I have refused and they are very angry.”

“What is it that they want you to do?”

“Dear,” he answered, “you, I am sure, will understand.  They want me to give them one of my beans.  They want to make some wretched drug or medicine from it, to advertise it all over the world, to amass a great fortune.”

“Are you in earnest?” she cried.

“Absolutely,” he assured her.  “It is Mr. Bomford’s scheme.  He says that it would mean great wealth for all of us.  Your father, too, praises it.  He, too, seemed to come—­for the moment, at any rate—­under the curse.  He, too, is greedy for money.”

“And you?” she whispered.  “What did you say?

“What did I say?” he repeated wonderingly.  “But of course you know!  Imagine the horror of it—­a health-food for the mind!  Huge sums of money rolling in from the pockets of credulous people, money stinking with the curse of vulgarity and quackery!  It is almost like a false note, dear, to speak of it out here, but I must tell you because they are angry with me.  I am afraid that your father will send me away, and I am afraid that our little dream is over and that I shall not wander with you any more evenings here in the cool darkness, when the heat of the day is past and the fragrance of the cedar tree and your roses fills the air, and you, your sweet self, Edith, are here.”

She was looking at him very fixedly.  Her lips were a little parted, her eyes were moist, her bosom was rising and falling as though she were shaken by some wonderful emotion.

“Dear!” she murmured.

It seemed to him that she leaned a little towards him.  His heart ached with longing.  Very slowly, almost reverently, his hands touched her shoulders, drew her towards him.

“You and I,” he whispered, “at least we live in the same world.  Nothing will ever be able to take the joy of that thought from my heart.”

She remained quite passive.  In her eyes there was a far-away look.

“Dear,” she said softly in his ear, “you are such a dreamer, aren’t you—­such a dear unpractical person?  Have you never used your wonderful imagination to ask yourself what money may really mean?  You can buy a world of beautiful things, you can buy the souls of men and women, you can buy the law.”