He broke the silence.

“So you refused Bates?”

She looked at him again.  “How did you know that?”

He laughed bitterly.

“He told me so; he’s another fool.”

“Mr. Westerfelt!”

“I beg your pardon,” he amended, quickly; “but any man is a fool to be simply crazy about a woman, and he is.”

He saw her raise her little shapely hand to her twitching mouth and experienced one instant’s throbbing desire to catch it and hold it and beg her to have mercy on him and help him throw off the hellish despair that rested on him.  It was a significant fact that she said nothing to protract the conversation on the line of Bates’s proposal.  To her the proposal and rejection of a king by her would have found no place in her thoughts, facing the incomprehensible mood of the man she loved.  It was growing dark when they reached the hotel.  As he aided her to alight he gave her his hand.  “It’s good-bye for a while, anyway,” he said.

She started; her hand was heavy and cold.  She caught her breath.  “When are you going, Mr. Westerfelt?”

“In the morning after breakfast, by the hack to Darley.”

That was all.  She lowered her head and passed into the house.  In the hall she met her mother.

“Great goodness, dear!” exclaimed the old woman; “what on earth did you run away from him so sudden for?”

Harriet pushed past her into the parlor and stood fumbling with the buttons of her cloak.

“Answer me, daughter,” pursued Mrs. Floyd; “what did—­”

“Oh, God! don’t bother me, mother,” cried Harriet.

Mrs. Floyd held her breath as she drew her daughter down on a sofa and stared into her face.

“What’s the matter, daughter? Do tell me.”

“He’s going away,” said Harriet.  “Oh, mother, I don’t know what ails him!  I never saw anybody act as he did.  He had little to say, and when he spoke it looked as if he was mad with me.  Oh, mother, sometimes I think he loves me, and then again—­”

“He does love you,” declared Mrs. Floyd.  “I hid behind the curtains in the parlor and watched him on the sly while he was waiting for you to come down.  I never saw a man show love plainer; he kept looking up at your window, and his face fairly shone when you come out.  You can’t fool me.  He’s in love, but he’s trying to overcome it for—­for some reason or other.  High-spirited men do that way, sometimes.  Men don’t like to give up their liberty and settle down.  But he’ll come to time, you see if he don’t.”

Harriet stood up and started to the door.  “Where are you going?” asked her mother.

“Up-stairs,” sighed Harriet.  “Mother, can you do without my help at supper?  I want to lie down and be alone.”

“Of course; I won’t need you; everything is attended to, and Hettie come while you was away.  She fairly danced when she heard you had gone to drive with Mr. Westerfelt.  She hopes you will speak to him about Toot.  She’s heard from him.  He wants to come back home and marry her, if Mr. Westerfelt can be persuaded to withdraw the charges.  Do you think he would, daughter?”