“Look out,” said Mrs. Bascom, coldly, “you’ll kick over the lantern.”

Her husband stopped in his stride.  “Darn the lantern!” he shouted.

“S-sh-sh! you’ll wake up the Brown man.”

This warning was more effective.  But Seth was still furious.

“Emeline Bascom,” he snarled, shaking his forefinger in her face, “you’ve said over and over that I wa’n’t a man.  You have, haven’t you?”

She was looking at his shirt cuff, then but a few inches from her nose.

“Who sewed on that button?” she asked.

This was so unexpected that his wrath was, for the instant, displaced by astonishment.

“What?” he asked.  “What button?”

“That one on your shirt sleeve.  Who sewed it on?”

“Why, I did, of course.  What a crazy question that is!”

She smiled.  “I guessed you did,” she said.  “Nobody but a man would sew a white button on a white shirt—­or one that was white once—­with black thread.”

He looked at the button and then at her.  His anger returned.

“You said I wa’n’t a man, didn’t you?” he demanded.

“Yes, I did.  But I’ll have to take part of it back.  You’re half a man anyhow; that sewin’ proves it.”

“Huh!  I want to know.  Well, maybe I ain’t a man; maybe I’m only half a one.  But I ain’t a fool!  I ain’t a fool!”

She sighed wearily.  “Well, all right,” she admitted.  “I sha’n’t argue it.”

“You needn’t.  I ain’t—­or anyhow I ain’t an everlastin’ fool.  And nobody but the everlastin’est of all fools would chase Sarah Ann Christy.  I didn’t.  That whole business was just one of your—­your Bennie D.’s lies.  You know that, too.”

“I know some one lied; I heard ’em.  They denied seein’ Sarah Ann, and I saw ’em with her—­with my own eyes I saw ’em. . . .  But there, there,” she added; “this is enough of such talk.  I’m goin’ now.”

“I didn’t lie; I forgot.”

“All right, then, you forgot.  I ain’t jealous, Seth.  I wa’n’t even jealous then.  Even then I give you a chance, and you didn’t take it—­you ‘forgot’ instead.  I’m goin’ back to the bungalow, but afore I go let’s understand this:  you’re to stay here at the lights, and I stay where I am as housekeeper.  We don’t see each other any oftener than we have to, and then only when nobody else is around.  We won’t let my Miss Graham nor your Brown nor anybody know we’ve ever met afore—­or are meetin’ now.  Is that it?”

Seth hesitated.  “Yes,” he said, slowly, “I guess that’s it.  But,” he added, anxiously, “I—­I wish you’d be ’specially careful not to let that young feller who’s workin’ for me know.  Him and me had a—­a sort of agreement and—­and I—­I—­”

“He sha’n’t know.  Good-by.”

She fumbled with the latch of the heavy door.  He stepped forward and opened it for her.  The night was very dark; a heavy fog, almost a rain, had drifted in while they were together.  She didn’t seem to notice or mind the fog or blackness, but went out and disappeared beyond the faint radiance which the lantern cast through the open door.  She blundered on and turned the corner of the house; then she heard steps behind her.