‘But decently polite,’ I answered.  ’One has to have somebody or — or be a monk.

‘One has to have somebody!’ she said, quickly, as she picked at the flower on her bosom and looked down at it soberly.  ’That is true one has to have somebody and, you know, I haven’t had any lack of company myself.  By the way, I have news to tell you.

She spoke slowly and in a low voice with a touch of sadness in it.  I felt the colour mounting to my face.

‘News!’ I repeated.  ’What news, I-lope?

‘I am going away to England,’ she said, ’with Mrs Fuller if — if mother will let me.  I wish you would write and ask her to let me go.

I was unhorsed.  What to say I knew not, what it meant I could vaguely imagine.  There was a moment of awkward silence.

‘Of course I will ask her if you wish to go,’ I said.  ’When do you sail?

’They haven’t fixed the day yet.

She sat looking down at her fan, a beautiful, filmy thing between braces of ivory.  Her knees were crossed, one dainty foot showing under ruffles of lace.  I looked at her a moment dumb with admiration.

‘What a big man you have grown to be Will,’ she said presently.  ’I am almost afraid of you now.

She was still looking down at the fan and that little foot was moving nervously.  Now was my time.  I began framing an avowal.  I felt a wild impulse to throw my strong arms about her and draw her close to me and feel the pink velvet of her fair face upon mine.  If I had only done it!  But what with the strangeness and grandeur of that big room, the voices of the others who were sitting in the library, near by, the mystery of the spreading crinoline that was pressing upon my knees, I had not half the courage of a lover.

‘My friend writes me that you are in love,’ she said, opening her fan and moving it slowly, as she looked up at me.

‘She is right I must confess it,’ I said, ’I am madly, hopelessly in love.  It is time you knew it Hope and I want your counsel.

She rose quickly and turned her face away.

‘Do not tell me — do not speak of it again — I forbid you,’ she answered coldly.

Then she stood silent.  I rose to take her hand and ask her to tell me why, a pretty rankling in my heart, Soft footsteps and the swish of a gown were approaching.  Before I could speak Mrs Fuller had come through the doorway.

‘Come Hope,’ she said, ’I cannot let you sit up late — you are worn out, my dear.

Then Hope bade us both good-night and went away to her room.  If I had known as much about women then, as now, I should have had it out, with short delay, to some understanding between us.  But in that subject one loves and learns.  And one thing I have learned is this, that jealousy throws its illusions on every word and look and act.  I went to my room and sat down for a bit of reckoning.  Hope had ceased to love me, I felt sure, and how was I to win her back?