“Very little,” he admitted, “for I am more inclined to believe you are the possessor of a strong will than that you are swayed by moods.  Listen.  If I thought that a mere senseless mood had caused your peculiar treatment of me to-night, I should feel justified in yielding to a mood also.  But I will not lower you to that extent in my estimation; I prefer to believe that you are the true-hearted, frankly spoken girl of the vine shadow.  It is this abiding conviction as to your true nature which holds me loyal to a test.  Miss Naida, is it now your desire that I leave you?”

He stepped aside, relinquishing her arm, his hat in hand, but she did not move from where he left her.

“It—­it hurts me,” she faltered, “for I truly desire you to think in that way of me, and I—­I don’t know what is best to do.  If I tell you why I wished to come alone, you might misunderstand; and if I refuse, then you will suspect wrong, and go away despising me.”

“I sincerely wish you might repose sufficient confidence in me as a gentleman to believe I never betray a trust, never pry into a lady’s secret.”

“Oh, I do, Lieutenant Brant.  It is not doubt of you at all; but I am not sure, even within my own heart, that I am doing just what is right.  Besides, it will be so difficult to make you, almost a stranger, comprehend the peculiar conditions which influence my action.  Even now you suspect that I am deceitful—­a masked sham like those others we discussed to-night; but I have never played a part before, never skulked in the dark.  To-night I simply had to do it.”

Her voice was low and pleading, her eyes an appeal; and Brant could not resist the impulse to comfort.

“Then attempt no explanation,” he said, gently, “and believe me, I shall continue to trust you.  To-night, whatever your wish may be, I will abide by it.  Shall I go, or stay?  In either case you have nothing to fear.”

She drew a deep breath, these open words of faith touching her more strongly than would any selfish fault-finding.

“Trust begets trust,” she replied, with new firmness, and now gazing frankly into his face.  “You can walk with me a portion of the way if you wish, but I am going to tell you the truth,—­I have an appointment with a man.”

“I naturally regret to learn this,” he said, with assumed calmness.  “But the way is so lonely I prefer walking with you until you have some other protector.”

She accepted his proffered arm, feeling the constraint in his tone, the formality in his manner, most keenly.  An older woman might have resented it, but it only served to sadden and embarrass her.  He began speaking of the quiet beauty of the night, but she had no thought of what he was saying.

“Lieutenant Brant,” she said, at last, “you do not ask me who the man is.”

“Certainly not, Miss Naida; it is none of my business.”

“I think, perhaps, it might be; the knowledge might help you to understand.  It is Bob Hampton.”