The red squirrel in the branches above me looked wisely.  He was wondering how long before the green burrs would parch and give him their brown chestnuts.  I was contemplating a metaphysical burr.  I wanted to remain true to Phyllis, though there wasn’t any sense in my doing so.  Had Gretchen resembled any one but Phyllis I never should have been in such a predicament.  I should have gone away the day after my arrival.  Here I was going into my second week.  My assistant in London was probably worrying, having heard nothing from me during that time.  As matters stood it was evident that I could not be true either to Phyllis or Gretchen, since I did not know positively which I loved.  I knew that I loved one.  So much was gained.  I wanted to throw up a coin, heads for Phyllis, tails for Gretchen, but I couldn’t bring myself to gamble on the matter.  I threw a stick at his squirrelship, and he scurried into the hole in the crotch of the tree.  A moment later he peered at me, and, seeing that nothing was going to follow the stick, crept out on the limb again, his tail bristling with indignation.

“If it hadn’t been for Gretchen,” said I, “you would have been a potpie long ago.”

He must have understood my impotence, for he winked at me jeeringly.

A steamer came along then, puffing importantly, sending a wash almost at my feet.  I followed it with my eye till it became lost around the bend.  Over there was Austria and beyond, the Orient, a new world to me.

“If I could see them together!” I mused aloud.

The squirrel cocked his head to one side as if to ask:  “Austria and Turkey?”

“No,” said I, looking around for another stick; “Phyllis and Gretchen.  If I could see them together, you know, I could tell positively then which I love.  As it is, I’m in doubt.  Do you understand?”

The squirrel ran out to the end of the limb and sat down.  It was an act of deliberation.

“Well, why don’t you answer?”

I was startled to my feet by the laughter which followed my question.  A few yards behind me stood Gretchen.

“Can’t you find a better confidant?” she asked,

“Yes, but she will not be my confidant,” said I. I wondered how much she had heard of the one-sided dialogue.  “Will you answer the question I just put to that squirrel of yours?”

“And what was the question?” with innocence not feigned.

“Perhaps it was, Why should Gretchen not revoke the promise to which she holds me?”

“You should know, Herr,” said Gretchen, gently.

“But I do not.  I only know that a man is human and that a beautiful woman was made to be loved.”  Everything seemed solved now that Gretchen stood at my side.

But she turned as if to go.

“Gretchen,” I called, “do not go.  Forgive me; if only you understood!’”

“Perhaps I do understand,” she replied with a gentleness new to me.  “Do you remember why I asked you to stay?”